Distant and Faded
by SingleMinded
Summary: On certain circumstances that keep happening, he thinks that everybody hates him. Dad hates him. Sammy hates him. So what’s the point of living? WARNING Self-destruction Dean. Pre-series. Mostly John and Dean. Major Dean’s angst. Not a death fic.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **You guys, long time no see. You can kick my ass if you want because I post something but not an update for my stories, but starting another new one. 8 months since my last post was too long for you, even for me. But I want to write a few chapters first before starting to update the stories again so you don't have to wait months between updates. Unfortunately, I just have one new chapter for each of my other stories. So, before I manage to write at least three new chapters for the stories, just enjoy this one for the time being. I already have 5 chapters in betaed process and another 5 chapters queuing after that.

**Beta'ed: **From a nice friend I have on the net, Green Witch 2. She's always nice with me and my works. Thanks for this, cookies for you girl!

**Summary: **On certain circumstances that keep happening, he thinks that everybody hates him. Dad hates him. Sammy hates him. So what's the point of living? WARNING Self-destruction Dean. Pre-series. Mostly John and Dean. Major Dean's angst.

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural belongs to Kripke and CW. This is just for fun. Title was from The Jamestown Story's song, Distant and Faded.

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter I**

"Hey! Move that crap out already, you moron!!" John Winchester hollered out to the old truck driver in front of him. That guy just starting to get on his nerves as he kept eating in his seat, never looking up to the green light in front of them.

His hand pushed down the horn, honking the guy up from his food. An annoyed glare shot to him in the rearview mirror as the dusty green truck started to make its move. As soon as he had the room to take over, he nearly knocked the vehicle into the side of the road as his big black four wheel drive cut its way through.

John didn't bother to think about the guy anymore, he grabbed his phone from the dashboard, hitting the same speed dial for a thousand times that week. His jaws clenched hard as he let out an impatient sigh.

"Damn it, Dean!" He cursed under his breath as he reached the voicemail.

John tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Gripping the steering wheel hard, he hit the gas as much as he could. He should be able to arrive at Bobby's in an hour. The old friend might know something since the hunter's house was in the middle of Dean's way to his last hunt.

He sent that kid to Nebraska two weeks ago for a simple hunting job. A series of unusual deaths was discovered and fitted the pattern for a possible supernatural attachment. They should have gone together but he'd found another job just outside California, so they split up. They made an agreement to meet up at a motel in Nebraska, four days ago.

But Dean never showed up.

He searched for the boy three days in a row, he was worried sick but mostly angry at the same time. He checked up all motels and hospitals in Nebraska, asking for a Jimmy Monroe or any John Doe but he ended up with nothing. There was no trace of his son except for a small hint of his appearance in the small town where he sent the kid before.

But the job was done, leaving him again back to square one.

His mind was chanting a lot of 'maybes' about what was going on with Dean, but most of them were bad guessing. And he didn't like that. There must be a really concrete reason why Dean hadn't shown up or contacted him, or even answered his calls these past few days. Dean was always sharp, always knew what was the best thing to do and he would never ever do something stupid such as purposely leaving his father worrying without any explanation. He knew that.

_Or did he? Was he possibly doing this on purpose? Did he want to leave too?_

John shook his head, knowing that he started to cross the line. There was no way Dean would do the same mistake his brother did. He knew his son. He knew him good. He just seemed different recently but it didn't mean that Dean would betray him too.

His son just missed his brother.

Since Sam left six months ago, Dean was different. He was quiet and sometimes, he was practically mute. John remembered that there were a few times he barely heard the kid's voice in days except from 'Yes Sir'. And he even stumbled over Dean having nightmares for a couple of times. Something he'd not seen since Dean was seven, except when he had fever. And deep down he knew, it was not just that two times. In his sleep, Dean kept saying that he was sorry and it broke his heart into pieces. He tried to calm his son down by touching the boy's head, stroking the hair down and apparently it was working.

But what made him feel ashamed to himself was, his hand was trembling all the way as he soothed his son from the nightmare. It made him realize that he couldn't even remember when the last time he ever did that, touching his son like that. Maybe after all, Sam was right.

He was a bad father.

Sam left them, he felt betrayed and angry but he still could move on. But Dean, he was struggling by himself, he could see that. He knew that Dean had a tough time to accept that his brother - his own baby brother - left him, choosing a strange life over the family. The kid was broken. But what did he do? Nothing, except making things worse. He kept sending his son on solo hunts. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Dean, but looking at the face just made him feel guilty over and over again. And unconsciously, he split the family apart.

And now, he didn't know how to fix it.

He'd screwed everything up.

A big wave of wind was taking over his thoughts, brushing his face with a few drops of water. He sighed, looking up at the already dark night sky. His eyes chased the rain drops that could be seen with the help of the road light. He closed the window before turning his head back to the road, knowing that it was going to be a longer ride than he thought.

--

John strolled from the parked truck, trying to steer clear of a couple of puddles of mud which were all over the yard of Bobby's place. If there were any possibility to have a standard code for a hunter's house, this place was the winner. The yard was always muddy, with a black dog up front, lazily sleeping but always alert of its surrounding. It was always dark even on a bright afternoon. Actually, it was just the feeling but it seemed real. Dean always said that the place was cursed or something. The house looked more like an old barn from some angle but the funny thing was it was the only place John could call home. And he knew, it was for his sons too.

They moved too much to feel attached to any place, sometimes even spending their days in the hospital more than a motel room. His sons never had a home, well maybe they had once but not anymore. Thanks to him for that.

As he stepped on the wooden double steps, the welcome feeling stroked his heart for a moment. He didn't know if his old friend was home. Bobby's truck could be anywhere in his back yard that full of metal scraps but he didn't bother to check out. And besides, a small sound could be heard from the living room, maybe coming from whatever movie the hunter was watching.

Exchanging his duffel bag to his right shoulder, he brought up his fist to knock the door. After knocking twice, he waited, glancing a little to the dormant black dog behind him.

John cleared his throat, ready to knock the door again when he heard a few steps approaching the front door. He put his half-way-knocking hand into his jean's pocket, waiting to greet the older hunter. As the door unfolded, John put a friendly smile to his face at the glimpse of the person in front of him.

"Hey Bobb…" John frowned.

The person stood still before him was not Bobby…

"Dean?"

TBC

**So what about a lil review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thanks a lot for the reviews. I love them all and I hope I did reply to each of it. Okay now I have chapter 2-5 betaed. I'm not sure about the other chapters after that because I don't have internet in my new house. I have a week break starting today and I'm home now so I'll try to update as much as I can within this week. Next week, when I'm back to my work place, I'll try to find internet café or something to keep updating this story (if I find one). So, I'm so sorry for the waiting.

**Beta'ed: **By awesome Green Raven 212. Haha… I still wanna write Green Witch 2 but hey, the Green is still there even when you change your name. Nice :D

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter II**

Dean yawned a little, watching half-heartedly at the midnight show. His body slumped into the worn couch with a bottle of beer in his right hand, resting limply on the blanket, wrapping around his body below the waist. His left fingers played with the itching healing cut behind his left ear before crawling higher to touch the stitches behind the back of his head. The cut was deep, he knew it because it seemed too slow to be healed. He inhaled a long breath before gulping down a few more sips from the green bottle.

"Stupid show." He mumbled under his breath.

His head turned to the left and right, trying to find the remote but sighing gallingly when he couldn't see it anywhere. Idly, he kicked the heavy blanket aside and dragged himself to the television, punching the button a few times until he reached a rerun match of a soccer game.

_That__'__s better._

As he slouched back into the couch, he wrapped back the blue blanket around him tighter as he tried to find a comfortable position. His head just barely touched the back of the couch when he heard the knocks from the front door.

"Aww… damn it Bobby. Why did you always forget to bring the keys?" He cursed. It was twice that day that he needed to open the door for the old man. Bobby said he forgot to bring the keys but he knew the old friend better than to believe it. Bobby was never that careless. So he assumed Bobby just wanted to annoy him, messing him around since he felt better today and the only thing he did these past few days was sleeping and eating.

He smirked at the thought but it faded quickly at the view of the green bottle in his hand.

"Oh shit!"

It must be a dead wish for him if the old hunter knew he was drinking when he should be resting. It was true that he felt better than before. The headache was gone and the fever was not too high like the first couple of days but it didn't mean that he could take the alcohol yet.

So hurriedly, he pushed the afghan aside and stood up. The sudden shift nearly sent him falling from the dizziness but he managed to steady himself. He moved as fast as he could to the window and unfastened the latch before throwing out the beer bottle to the backyard. Cleared up his sore throat, he walked slowly to the front entrance, praying that he didn't seem too suspicious.

Standing before the door for a while, he pulled the bolt with a click, set with some innocent value on his face.

"Hey Bobb…" The voice from the person outside sent a chill down his spine, along with the cold night wind wiping up his skin. He could feel the blood drained quickly from his face, sending his heart beating faster. He was stunned because the person was not Bobby but the last person he ever expected to show up.

It was his father, John Winchester.

"Dean?"

Their eyes met each other for a while. Everything around them seemed to stop, splitting the Winchesters into a different world. Dean looked at his father, his wide eyes unmatched the frown on the elder's face. He tried to say something but ended up gulping the taste of beer that still left in his mouth. _This is not right. I__'__m not ready yet._

Suddenly the frown before him was replaced with a sheer anger. And before he could do anything, a pair of strong hands gripped his thin grey shirt hard. He could feel his body being pulled to his left like a swing before his back and head was flung to the wall with a thump. He gasped in shock at the abrupt action.

He was used to be thrown to the wall before. They were hurt but none of them felt like this. _Because this is dad._

"What the hell were you thinking?!" his father's voice stabbed his ears like a roar, made him flinch with a swallow.

John's hands pinning his son to the wall, his eyes never leaving the young face. The fuel of anger that wrapped his mind was too much to notice the paleness and the heat that radiated from the body in front of him. All his worry was flushed away, replaced by an unbelievable awareness that he was just being played by his own son. And the thought just raised his temper higher than before.

"ANSWER ME!!"

But Dean just turned his head to his right, looking down to the floor. He could feel the grips became harder and the grated teeth shouted a danger but he couldn't answer his father. He would never understand. Nobody would understand. Because it was something he couldn't understand himself.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. Look at me!" But when Dean still never looked up, John was starting to feel annoyed. He was ready to grab the face to look at him when a familiar voice called his name from the door.

"John!" Bobby was standing there, looking at him in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing? Let go of him."

John turned his head to his son, shooting a glare to the boy before releasing his hand from the shirt. Even when the grips were loosed, Dean was still locking himself to the wall, and never had courage to meet his father's eyes.

"I can ask the same question to you too Bobby." The sentence was uttered flatly, almost dangerously to be heard by other person. But this was Bobby he was talking to. And there was nothing John Winchester could do to ever make the old hunter flinch even a bit.

"And what the hell are you talking about?" Bobby closed the door before moving closer to the younger Winchester, forming a triangle between them.

"I was dead worried about him for over three days, thinking about the worst everytime I found nothing about what happened to him. And you didn't bother to tell me anything? That he was here all this time? What are you guys doing? Playing a game with me? Don't you ever say that you didn't know!" John hollered out when he saw that Bobby was about to say something.

Bobby looked at his friend as he shook his head. "I'm not going to say that. I knew that he should have met you three days ago but it's between you and your son."

John stared at Bobby for a few seconds. His face was unreadable. "All right." His jaws clinched before he turned his head to his son. "I'm so disappointed with you Dean."

The words just put a temper in Bobby's head. He could barely see Dean's eyes but he knew something was changed there as soon as the words uttered. _Damn you John!_ He knew he should see this coming but it was too late now. Before everything became worse, he needed to do something.

"Dean, go back to your room."

"No, I'm not finish yet!" John shouted his anger, halting the boy from moving.

When he saw that Dean was hesitating with his next step, Bobby said it again but this time he pitched his voice deeper. "Dean, go back to your room."

As John tried to stop his son again, Bobby shot a glare to his friend. "Don't you dare John."

"But you said yourself it's between me and my son. You have no right to say something here."

"And you have no right to say something like that to him!"

They stared at each other for a while. The moment left silent until a small voice—more like a whisper—cracked into the situation.

"I'm…" They both looked up at the boy abruptly, as if they just noticed that there was somebody else in the room. "I'm sorry… dad."

Dean walked away as soon as he said the words. John looked at his son with a frown. He didn't know what happened but the apology just washed out all of his anger. Suddenly he didn't know how to feel, he didn't know what to think. He just looked at Dean while his son walked between Bobby and him.

Then, as the kid's body moved, a wave of guilt swam down his heart immediately when he caught a small dark red spot on the wall, the same place he pinned his son before.

_Oh God. What did I do? Did I just hurt him?_

"Dean." He whispered as he tried to stop his son who was half his way to the roomwhen Bobby put a hand to his chest. "Let me talk to him."

He tried to protest but then he realized maybe it was better to let Bobby talk to his son first. Besides, he really didn't know what happened in the first place. He nodded and again, he just looked as he was left alone in the living room.

"_I__'__m so disappointed with you Dean.__"_

His own voice played in his head out of no where.

"_And you have no right to say something like that to him!__"_

John ran his fingers through his hair. _Just what on earth was I thinking?_

TBC

**Let me know something about your opinion, will ya :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Thanks a lot for the reviews. Like I said, I'll try to update the first 5 chapters within this week and here goes the 3rd Chapter. Enjoy yourself :)

**Beta'ed: **The only green-girl I've ever seen, Green Raven 212. Hehe.. just kidding. Whatever happened, she's awesome. You rock girl!

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter III**

Bobby stepped into the room, the only extra room he had. It contained two beds and a small bathroom. It was sensibly the Winchester boys' because they were the only constant visitors he ever had, apart from Caleb and Jim and a few other hunters. But usually, they never spent their night here. And besides, the couches were much more fitted with them. And with John too. He never needed the bed since everytime he was here, he would let the boys use the room. He would stay up all night, drinking some beer, talking about the hunt with Bobby or just babbling about anything he wanted to talk.

Bobby let out a long sigh, darting his eyes to the laying figure on the bed. Dean was facing his back to him and pretended to never notice his presence. Dean had never behaved like this before, at least not in front of him. The boy usually just put a fake smile or made a stupid joke everytime he was trapped in an emotional situation. But that was then, he was different now. It was like everything was too much for him to shoulder anymore, like he was tired of his life.

Ever since the youngest Winchester left for what he called a normal life, he noticed the change in Dean. He didn't talk as much as he used to and he'd rather be left alone instead of participating in any conversation like he used to. At first, he thought it was just temporary, that Dean was just missing his brother and he would be back on track again, in time.

But he was wrong. They were something else going on in the head of the young man. Sam was not the only answer of what exactly happened to Dean now. And Bobby thought he knew what it was.

And he was certain that he was right the night Dean showed up in front of his door a few days before.

Bobby walked slowly to the bed before taking a pose behind Dean's back. He let the silence take place for a while before clearing his throat. "You okay?"

"I'm sleeping." The answer left him chuckling a little, knowing the full meaning of the sentence. _I__'__m fine. You don__'__t have to talk to me._

He touched Dean's head, running his fingers into the dark blond hair and aware of the flinch under his hand. But he didn't stop until he reached the stitches he searched before drawing back his hand. His jaws clinched at the red wetness on his fingers.

"I think you need new stitches." There was no answer but Bobby didn't expect one so he continued to talk.

"You need to talk to your dad. Whatever the reason you did this, he needs to know. You never say anything to me but he's your dad and he has the right to know. Maybe he doesn't understand but you need to make him understand. He's not perfect but he's still your father, Dean." Bobby stopped for a while, waiting for any response from the young hunter but again, he got none.

"Just remember, I'm always here." He sighed as he patted Dean's upper arm. "I'll take the kit, just don't sleep. Yet."

With that, Bobby walked out and closed the door behind him.

--

"_He__'__s not perfect but he__'__s still your dad.__"_

As soon as he was alone, Dean opened his eyes, looking at nothing in front of him.

"_I__'__m so disappointed with you Dean.__"_ He couldn't shut off the voice from his head.

_Yeah, he__'__s my dad. But he hates me._

_Everybody hates me._

--

"How is he?" John asked at the same time he saw Bobby walked out from the room.

"Is he okay?" He was still waiting, but impatient. Bobby just walked pass him, ignoring his question like he was talking to nothing and moved into the kitchen before walking back with a first aid kit. He tried to calm himself down but he was waiting enough and that just annoyed him. "Bobby."

Bobby was reaching the blue blanket from the couch when he heard the firm voice, making him stop at his place. He looked up at his friend with a stern face. All of a sudden, he just didn't feel like talking. Shaking his head a few times, he reached back the blanket, curling the afghan into a ball before snatching the first aid kit from the table and moved back to Dean's room.

"Bobby, talk to me." John sounded desperate. But when the Singer never stopped his walk, John caught Bobby's arm, halting his pace.

"What's the hell is going on? You guys just make it look like it was all my fault. Maybe I'm wrong to talk to him like that, or hurting him like that. But he's the one who started this. I just wanna know the reason why he never showed up when he's the one who agreed to meet."

Bobby moved up his eyes to meet the Winchester's, taking a few second just to read the face before saying, "You don't get it right?"

"Get what?"

"Why this all happened in the first place." The words received a frown from the hunter.

"What? That he missed his brother? I knew that. But he's twenty two, Bobby. He can't act like a kid anymore. He needs to stay sharp. Besides, it's not a good enough reason to leave me worrying about him on purpose."

"Huh." Bobby puffed along with a sarcastic smirk. "That's why I told you that you don't get it." And with that, Bobby started to continue his walk.

"Bobby, wait… wait!" Once again, Bobby was stopped by a grip on his arm but this time it was stronger than before.

"Just… just talk to me please. What's going on with him?" it was Bobby's turn to frown this time. He stared at the hunter with a long thought. John never pleaded him with anything, never. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this man tried to understand but he didn't know how.

Maybe it was not just Dean, but they both needed help.

Bobby sighed, turning his body to fully face his friend. "Dean needs help. Our help. He's not like himself anymore. And it's not just about Sam. It's about you too." _You made something that makes him think that you hate him._

"About me? What… what is it about me? I know he's not like himself. Ever since Sam left, he-"

"You don't understand." _It__'__s not just Sam. It__'__s you._

"Then help me understand!"

Bobby frowned at the snap. This was the side he never saw coming out from John Winchester. He knew the guy cared about his sons and he had seen so many times before when the guy was worried about his sons everytime they got hurt. But this was different.

He seemed scared.

Like he was afraid to lose something so precious.

Like he was losing his son now. Both sons. And like he didn't know how to get it back.

Bobby had to admit, maybe after what he did, John Winchester was still a great father.

Bobby made a step to his friend, increasing the confusion on the Winchester's face. Pinching his lips together, he put the blanket and the first aid kit into John's arms, inviting a pair of raising eyebrows. John's eyes were full of question but Bobby just gave him a warm smile to his friend.

"He still has his fever, and you just reopened his stitches on the back of his head. If you want to fix this, the first thing you need to do is talk to him. I can't say anything. What if I'm wrong?"

The look in John's face was varied with everything. He was so overwhelmed with feelings but on top of everything, he felt so lucky to have a friend like Bobby. "Thanks Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Just don't push too hard okay? Or you're not going to be able to stop me from killing you the next time."

Their eyes met for one last time before John made his steps to the room. Whatever this thing was, he vowed to himself to make it right this time.

TBC

**So, what do you think? Oh, and is it too slow? I kinda not really happy with this chapter but I like where the story goes so please wait for another chapters :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Thanks a lot for the reviews. Okay, I said that this story is more John and Dean right? But it Winchesters' story and Sam is still a Winchester right? So, here a lil Sammy. Hope you like it.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. Bucket o'crazy for, oh no, that's for Meg. Bucket of cookies for you. Yes, that sounds okay. :D

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter IV**

Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was the headache that started its pumping again in his head that made him fall asleep too fast. He was sure that he just closed his eyes for a second when he felt something cold and wet behind his head.

"Bobby." He tried to turn to his back when a big hand held his shoulder to stay still.

And the hand was not Bobby's.

"No, it's me. Stay still, I need to take care of your head."

Hearing the voice, Dean quickly turned his body to the right, supporting his form with his right elbow. And John never had a second to stop the boy from facing him this time. And the way Dean looked at him just shrunk his heart.

_What was that? Did he think that I__'__m going to hurt him?_

"Dad?"

"Yeah."_ Why are you so stupid John? Is that the only word you know how to pronounce?_

John cleared his throat, he tried to say something, like starting a conversation but somehow, he didn't know how to do that. It was not their stuff, talking about their feelings, having some chick flick moments, a thing he knew Dean hated too much. And he knew that he just threw the chance when something else slipped from his lips. "Why don't you lie back like before? I tried to clean the wound. Then you can go back to sleep."

Dean took a slight glance at his father, before looking back on his palm. Apart from everything, the lines there were the most interesting things right now. But he didn't want to just sit there, facing each other and saying nothing. So he nodded and laying back on his left, facing his back to his father.

He closed his eyes shut when the cold wet cloth rubbed his head again, before something surely a needle sticking through his skin.

Thinking back, it was funny how two weeks could change their life. They seemed more like strangers now, instead of father and son. He knew some of this was his fault. But maybe this was what his father wanted. John never saw him as a son before. He should know it early. Sam was right. He was just a soldier, his father's puppet.

His father didn't even want to talk to him right now. Maybe he was doing this because Bobby asked him too.

He never mattered to his father. It was just the hunt, Sam and the stupid thing that killed their mom.

John just needed him to protect Sam. Now Sam has his own life, he didn't need his big brother anymore and it meant that his job was done.

He was useless now.

And in silence, his father convinced him about that. His dad never wanted to see his face. He kept separating them to different hunts. Where was the main rule he said before? That 'we hunt together; we watch each other back together'. He thought they were a family. But at the end, he was the only stupid person out of three. Sam saw this a long time ago and he was the one who didn't get it.

They are not family. They were just hunters.

Dean felt a warm blanket pulled up to his shoulder before a hand soothed back his hair a few times, taking away some of the aches in his head. He frowned. His father never did this since a long time ago. He didn't know if he had it when he was unconscious or something but his father never touched him like this on his awareness.

He turned slowly onto his back, staring with a deeper frown into his father's eyes. The sooth stopped and the older hunter was looking away but he managed to catch something in the eyes. It was not hatred or anything he expected. It was something he never used to, something he didn't know how to read.

It was something else.

And suddenly it gave him a new hope. Maybe Sam was the one who wrong. Maybe he was the one who was right.

They were still a family.

And he just needed to make it right this time.

He made a mistake before and he needed to apologize.

"I'm sorry." His raw voice sounded nothing like his but he knew he said it when the older Winchester turned back to look at him.

"I know. Me too, buddy. Me too." John gave a small smile to his son. It was a half smile but still, it was there.

"Go back to sleep. Everything is gonna be fine tomorrow." Then he continued to brush the sandy hair until the boy was asleep.

When he wanted to touch his son, he still could feel the trembling in his hand but it was better now. And the important thing was, Dean never noticed about that.

He smiled.

This was a start. He was sure they could make it this time.

--

Sam tossed carelessly to his right. But he still couldn't sleep. So he moved back to his left. And it was still the same. Then he lied flatly on his back. He opened his eyes with a big sigh. His hands rubbed his face roughly.

"Damn it!"

"Dude, still can't sleep?"

Sam turned his head to his left, looking at Henry, his roommate. "Yeah, sorry I woke you up."

"Nah, I can't sleep either." Henry threw both his legs down to the floor. He looked at his friend with sympathy. "But seriously man, it's been three days. You can't stay like this. It's final exam next week. I know you can do it but man, it's no fun to answer the question if your eyes are screaming for a nap."

"Yeah, I know. I tried but…"

Henry shook his head before asking. "Just what's the problem, man? You know you can tell me anything."

Sam turned to his friend once more. The African-American guy seemed sincere to help him. He thought for a while. It couldn't hurt to tell Henry about it, it was not like he told him everything about his _previous _life. So, Sam chucked out his legs beside the bed, turning on the lamp, and sat duplicating his friend's pose. For a while, they just facing each other with a silence before Sam took a deep breath and started telling him.

"It's just my brother."

"You have a brother?" Henry asked with a surprised frown.

Sam didn't bother to answer, just continued. "We never talked since I came here. We used to be good brothers but then everything just… you know, not like before. And then…"

"Then what?"

"I got a call from him."

"Three days ago." Henry completed his friend's sentence. He knew it because it was the reason for all this _insomnia_ stuff.

"Yeah. You're the only person who has my number right? And I'm sure you didn't give it to him. I don't know where he got my number but he can do a lot of things you can't, you know." Sam chuckled. Dean was something. But sometimes, he didn't understand his brother. Like why in the hell did he love to be just a good little soldier? He was smart and he was still young. He could do a lot of things, if he wanted.

Sam sighed at the thought and continued the story.

"He called me just to say hi." _But I cut him off with __'__I don__'__t wanna talk to you, Dean__'__._ He felt so bad about it and he would do anything to take it back. But it was too late now. And he didn't have a strange to call his brother back.

"Then, what happened?" Henry was still curious but he knew he wouldn't get the full story when Sam just shook his head and lied back on his bed.

"Alright. Whatever man. But…" he took a bottle of pills from his bag that hung at the end of his bed. "I used to have insomnia and this helps me a lot. Don't worry about it, my dad gave it to me and he's the best doctor I ever know. I don't give it to you early because I don't want you to get used to it."

Sam caught the bottle that flew into his space. He read the prescription on the label and gave a grateful glance to his roommate. "Thanks dude."

He took a couple of pills and swallowed them in one gulp. As the bottle changed hands back to the owner, he turned off the lamp and fall back to the pillow. "G'night Henry."

"Night Sammy."

He flinched.

TBC

**I would love to hear something good, bad or ugly from you. Tell me something please.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Thanks a lot for the reviews. Well since I changed the summary a lil bit, I've got better hits and reviews for this story. It's telling a lot that a summary is one of the important parts to attract readers. Thanks again. But maybe I have a bad news here. This is my last betaed chapter in store that I have. I'm still waiting for the other chapters but that's not the problem, the problem is, my holiday will be ended by tomorrow and I'm going back to my work place which I don't have internet in my house there. So, until I found an internet café or something, you guys need to wait for a while to read the next chapter. I can reply the reviews using my phone but to update something, the gadget is not that expensive :( Sorry.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. You deserved better than my thanks. Maybe a hug from Sam and Dean. Yay!

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter V**

_Three days ago…_

Bobby was talking on the phone while his right hand busy flipping through the old book in front of him.

"Yeah. You got it right. The translation said that this is the right spell. No, no. Don't try that on your nephew yet dummy. Use the witch first. If she didn't make it, call me back again. But I'm sure the spell is right. I'm not that easy to kill some bitch even if she deserves it." Bobby chuckled. It was so funny to hear that there was some amateur witch that screwed up her own ritual with a wrong spell.

It was raining again tonight and it was heavier than a couple of days ago. Bobby needed to clasp the phone harder to his ear so he could hear the person at the end of the line better. The rain was bad enough but what made it harder to hear was when Rumsfeld started to bark and seemed like it had no intention to stop.

Bobby stood up from his seat, looking at the clock on the wall while walking to the window. It was one o'clock in the morning and if there was something supernatural trying to interrupt his night, it would be the best time for whatever it was.

"Hey George man, just do what I said. I need to go now." With that, he clicked the red button and shoved the big phone onto the table.

He flattened his back to the wall, narrowing his eyes and staring out of the window. It was so dark to see anything but the big black dog was still barking in front of his house. He tried to see the source that successfully got his dog's attention but it was impossible to see anything within the raindrops and the dark night.

Moving back to the door, he grabbed the shotgun and a six-shooter that hung just beside the door frame. After making sure that the shotgun was full with rock salts and the six-shooter still has four more bullets, he opened the door slowly, giving out his strength more than he should so the door was not flung opened by the hard wind at once. He was wet as soon as he stepped outside. The rain made him pinched his eyes a little more, avoiding him getting a full view.

"Rumsfeld!" He called the dog but it was still facing the yard with continuous barks.

Bobby moved forward, fighting the wind. His cap was nearly flown away but he got it in time. The more he made his steps, the more he could see the black metallic object on the yard.

It was the Impala.

_Just what the hell was it doing here?_

Following his gut, he ran quickly to the car and nearly stumbled to something just at the end of his double wooden steps.

It was a person he knew so well.

"Dean?"

Bobby looked at the young man in disbelief. He was half lying half sitting with his back leaning against the steps and his lower waist was dumped in the muddy ground. He was wet and his eyes were closed. Even though it was dark, Bobby could see that the boy was shivering and his face was pale. Tossing his weapons to his side, he knelt down beside the Winchester.

"Hey, Dean." He brushed the damped hair from the kid's forehead.

Bobby just thought that the young man was unconscious but when Dean opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly to him, he knew that he was wrong. "Bobbyyy… You look so… chubby…"

"Are you… drunk?" Bobby frowned but when Dean moved toward him liked he was going to throw up, he turned the boy aside with his hand and held the Winchester under his arms.

And again, he was wrong. Dean turned back toward him, leaning hard against the old hunter and nearly knocked him backward. Dean's hand was reaching out behind him. When Bobby turned to look at what was the thing that pulled the young man's attention too much, he sighed. Dean was just trying to get to his gin that lied helplessly behind Bobby's kneeling pose. But the bottle was too far to be reached by the Winchester.

"No, Dean. There's nothing left in there. What are you doing here? Are you alone?"

And the question received an unreadable look from the young man. The hazel green eyes just gazed lifelessly to his old ones. The rain was getting heavier and the water kept wetting down the young face before him. The dampened long lashes made him look more vulnerable, like he was a lost puppy just being dumped by its owner.

Bobby's hands were still locking under Dean's armpits, parting the boy's back from the hard wooden edges behind his back. But the Winchester never made any move. Instead he just kept fastening his eyes on the old hunter's.

"Dean. Answer me. Talk to me or something." Bobby patted the cold cheek lightly.

Suddenly, a harsh voice making a soft appearance from the trembling lips. "They hate me."

"What? Who?"

"They hate me. Dad hates me. Sam hates me." There was nothing drunk in the sentence but it sounded like it was real, like it was really coming out from down in his heart. And Bobby didn't know what to say to that.

_What the hell just happened?_

"Hey kid, why don't we just get inside? You need to warm up. You're going to catch a fever or pneumonia if we stay here any longer." He doubted himself with the words because he knew the kid already got the illnesses, or at least the fever. The skin under him was too cold to be so well.

But Dean still didn't move. And when Bobby tried to get him up to his feet, the young Winchester just slumped into his chest limply. "Hey, hey Dean. Stay awake. Dean!"

Bobby pulled Dean's head from his chest, brushing the wet hair down through the back. But as he reached a small bump and some sticky wetness on the back of the kid's head, he knew that he needed to deal with this alone.

_Damn it Dean. At least don__'__t be such a fool, drinking when you have a head injury._

Shaking his head a few times, he gave all his old strength to pull the heavy young boy into a fireman carry. He was grateful that he never closed the door before as he managed to take Dean inside without bumping his head more to the wall or door frame.

As he carefully slipped the Winchester onto the bed, he gave a long gaze to the closed eyes before him sadly.

"_They hate me. Dad hates me. Sam hates me.__"_

He sighed, brushing the damped hair one more time with a soft touch.

_Just what__'__s going on in that head of yours to ever think like that, kid?_

--

_Present…_

"So you talked to him already?"

John took a seat beside the old man before answered with a shrug. "No. I just let him sleep."

"John-"

"It's complicated Bobby. I… I can't." Bobby gave an unpleasant look at the answer. He narrowed his eyes as he shot the next words.

"Nothing's easy about this John. And you will never settle this if you're not going to try harder."

"I know, I will, alright. I just need more time." John just took a small glance to his friend because he didn't have the heart to meet his eyes longer. He brought his fingers up pinching his nose bridge and let out a sigh.

"Just, I still don't get it, why he never answer my call or even tell me that he was alright. I'm dead worried about him for three days, Bobby. Three days."

"I can't tell you anything. He just showed up on my porch three days ago, drunk even with the head injury then he just collapsed and out for 26 hours. You can't blame him for being unconscious and couldn't make it to your place. But I knew he was wrong when he decided not to tell you anything. I don't really know the full story either because he never told me anything apart from where he got the injuries which is from the last hunt. But I knew it had something to do with you. Because…" Bobby paused, teething his tongue a little before continue. "He thought that you hate him."

John looked up with a frown. It was something that never occurred in his mind before. "What are you talking about? I never hate him. He's my son."

"I know he's your son. But did you ever treat him like one?"

"Of course I do. I love him. I care about him."

"That's not enough John. You need to show it sometimes. I don't know if I'm wrong but that's the way I see it."

"You're wrong. You don't know that Bobby."

Bobby looked at his friend unbelievable. _Why is he so stupid? He rather said that to make himself feel better than trying to understand the situation here._

"Don't be so sure about that John. I told you already. Don't blame me if this thing gets worse. He's your son. Make sure you see that right." _And I take this thing serious like he__'__s my son too. You better do something before I end you one day because of this._

John just looked at his friend with cold eyes. He didn't know what to think. Maybe Bobby was right but if he was, did that mean he was a bad father? If Mary was still alive, would she be disappointed with him too?

_Did I do the wrong thing this time, Mary?_

Then he stood up with a sigh. "Sam's not here. I'm taking his bed. Night Bobby." He didn't even wait for any reply before taking out his step to the room.

Bobby just slumped into the couch with a growl.

_Your lives are so screwed, Winchesters._

TBC

**Review would be nice :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Hi guys. First, let me say something that I keep forgetting to say. I wanna thanks a lot to you that reviews, reads, alerts and favourites my story. I kept receiving emails, saying that people kept reading and put this story into their alert and favourite story. Thanks guys. And now, since I just found an internet cafe, I'll try to update this story regularly, maybe not everyday but I'll update.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. Love your review girl. It's really make my day. Thanks!

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter VI**

"The family said both of the men were hearing voices for a few days before they committed suicide. And I bet you the last dead boy heard the voice too." Bobby looked up from the white printed paper to his friend with lit eyes. He knew he would love this one hunt because it was too long since his last salting and burning some crazy spirit. Most of his recent hunts were just dealing with ugly creatures and demons. And he started to get sick of their faces.

"So it's a hunt?" John raised an eyebrow, wanting a confirmation from the older hunter.

Bobby's lips curved a little. "It's a hunt."

"Alright then, you get Dean. I'm going to check the guns. We're moving in fifteen minutes."

As the Winchester was about to put a distant from his just seated wooden chair, Bobby's happy face turned serious. "John, wait a minute."

"What?" John's voice was flat, which was the one he used when he sensed something he didn't like.

"Did you talk to him yet?"

It was silence for a few moments before the Winchester shook his head. "I don't think I need to do that anymore. It was being two days, Bobby. And don't you see it? He's getting better. He's back like his old self. And I don't want to ruin it. Everything's going to be okay on its own, Bobby."

Bobby didn't reply straight away. It was not because he didn't know what to say, but he couldn't deny the fact. He saw it himself, Dean was getting better. He didn't know what John did or what was the kid thinking about that night but, he really seemed well.

He talked a lot more than any other day since Sam left. And he started making lame jokes like he used to back then. All the things happened made him realized just how right Jim was, once. The pastor, an old friend of him and John, used to tell him something about the young boy Dean Winchester. And it was years ago but he still remembered it.

"_Sometimes, he can make you think that you know him. And some other times, he can make you think that you can read him. But the truth is we__'__re all wrong. We can__'__t predict him. Nobody knows him because sometimes, he doesn__'__t even know himself.__"_

It was a fuzzy one. He always remembered but he didn't really know the meaning of the phrase. But now, he would say that he understood some of it. Dean can't be predictable. We can't always believe what we think about him. It was like playing a crossword, when there was one unknown answer, we could use the other answers to put it together and come out with the one most logical solution to the unknown. But sometimes, even when we thought that we were right, we ended up wrong, because we missed something, either from the beginning or in the middle, or at the end of the game.

But one thing for sure, Bobby just hoped that if they were really wrong, it would be just like the crossword too, that they didn't slip too far from the right answer. That they could still fix things. That they could still put the pieces back together.

Pieces that once was an unbelievably strong bond.

He has a bad feeling about this but he just hoped that John was right. Everything was going to be okay on its own.

"I hope so John. I hope so."

As he saw John's glimpse vanish into the back room, where he dumped his weapons before, Bobby pushed himself up, wondering where the young Winchester was. The last time he saw the boy was when Dean was teasing Rumsfeld with a big piece of meat.

"Hey Bobby!" Bobby startled at the sudden shout from his back. He turned just to see the middle Winchester with a big grin on his face and a bottle of beer in his right hand.

"Damn you boy. Don't you ever do that again. Where were you anyway? We're moving. There's a hunt in Boulder." Bobby said while stepping closer to the young man.

"I'm in the backyard, my car's battery's dead. And I took one of yours, you won't mind right?" Dean looked at the old man teasingly, but his grin replaced with a new frown. Bobby moved way too close to his liking and as he was about to make a comment, the old hunter snatched the green bottle from his hand.

"Hey! That was mine."

"Oh yeah it's yours. But don't you ever think to drink any liquor in my house for a month, boy."

"What?! Why? Okay, if you worried about my concussion, I'm fine now. So what's all about the grounded?"

"Don't you try to play innocent kid. I ain't no fool. You drank three times on concussion right? I count my beer's stock you know." Bobby moved away, sipping the brew with a slight grin he tried hardly to hide. The look on Dean's face was priceless. If Sam was here, they would team up to make a joke out of it.

"Oh come on, Bobby. It's…" Dean stopped at the big wide eyes Bobby shot to him. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't win this one. Mumbling to himself, he strolled lifelessly to his room. But before the door slammed to completely closed, he managed to shout his voice out loud.

"Nobody count their beers grabby old man!"

Bobby laughed at the childish shot. He really missed the old Dean and he was happy now to see the young boy was back to his old self again. What had happened a couple of days before was not over yet, but for everybody's sakes, he would not really mind to hold it for a little while longer.

--

"It's just two states away right? Do you think it's safe to leave dad's truck here? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not going to leave my baby, we're using the Impala." Dean said, trailing Bobby's step from behind.

As he came close to the black muscle car, he pulled the back door open, tossing the two duffle bags he carried into the backseat. Apart from hating the fact that he was going to spend the ride in the backseat of his own car, he'd rather let it happen than leaving his baby in Bobby's ugly and muddy yard alone.

"I'm living here since the first time I saw this freaking world kid. And there's nobody ever step on this porch to steal something from me." A wide proud smile stamped on Bobby's face, wrinkling his wrinkle a lot more, showing the experience in every single line.

"There's a first time for everything Bobby. And didn't I just tell you before that I stole your battery?" Dean grinned while moving around the car, putting a distance between them. He was used to get a slap behind his head for teasing the old guy and it was the first thing he reminded himself before making any fun to the hunter.

"Don't be a smart-" before he could finish, Bobby was cut by a raw voice behind them.

"I just checked your trunk. All the weapons are ready. I assume you guys can finish this in a couple of days. Dean, we'll meet up in Idaho by Monday. I'll tell you the place later." John resumed his step to his truck as he instructed.

"I thought you're going with us?" Dean said. Bobby was trying not to flinch at the words uttered from the youngest. Because that was exactly how Dean sounded when he showed up battered and drunk on his porch a few nights before. He couldn't point out the real word to express the way it sounded before, but now, he knew with his heart.

It was a sound of being betrayed.

"No, Dean. I found another job in Idaho. Both my job and yours just a simple salt and burn. But if we split up, we're not wasting too much time." John replied with a regular tone, not really aware that he just painted up again the same sad colour he almost successfully cleaned up from his son's mind.

Dean looked away from his father's face, trying as hard as he could to hold the sudden emotion from light up on his face. He bit his lower lip while inhaling a shaky breath.

"_I found another job in Idaho.__"__ He found the job. Not the other way around. He searched it on purpose. He doesn__'__t want to be with me._

"_But if we split up, we__'__re not wasting too much time.__"__ He wants us to split up because I__'__m wasting his time._

_I thought I was wrong. I thought he__'__s not what I think he was. But…_

_He does really hate me._

Bobby didn't know why he felt so nervous. He saw the change in Dean's eyes. And he didn't like it. _This is not right. This is not what it should be. He thinks that John hates him._

_Again. _

All of the sudden, Bobby started to feel the urge to help the young boy, who looked emotionally defeated at the other side of the Impala, well maybe it didn't really shown but Bobby knew it. "Hey John. Maybe we should go together. You said yourself, they're both just simple hunts. I think its better-"

"No. This is not a holiday, Bobby. It's not something fun. It's our job. And people's lives are counting on it."

Bobby was about to argue but before he made the thing worse, he managed to stop himself from flew the words._ Dean was not going to like it. I__'__m not going to argue about him in front of his own eyes. He__'__ll think that he__'__s useless. And that's the last thing I need him to think._

"Dean, you got it?" John threw a firm question while opening the driver's door of the black truck. He swore that he saw some uncomfortable feeling written on his friend's face before. He didn't know why but he was certain that Bobby was worrying too much. _Dean__'__s fine. And he__'__s a big boy. And why the hell does Bobby worry so much?_

Aware that his dad was waiting his answer and steadily studying his _performance_, Dean made sure that this was one of the best fake acts he ever made. A smile came out as a little smirk swept across his face, while he moved straight away to the driver's door.

"Yes, Sir. Besides, I'm going to drive her. Who wouldn't want to?" Mission accomplished. His voice sounded happy enough to pass over his feelings, getting a nod from his father as the old man seemed satisfied with whatever he needed to satisfy with.

Bobby and Dean just stood still at each side of the Impala as the black vehicle made its way onto the road. As soon as the truck was vanished from his view, Bobby turned to the boy, carrying along the full concern and sympathy. "You okay Dean?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean expressed his reply as he dropped himself onto the driver's seat. Bobby sighed, getting the hint clear enough.

Shaking his head a few times, he loosed smoothly into the car, riding shotgun.

_This is going to be a long ride._

TBC

**I hope, this is not too confusing or boring. Let me know something will ya :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Thanks a lot or the reviews. Again, I was nervous if I let you down but for some of you, I didn't. Thanks and I hope this time its better. And today is Supernatural Premiere. Happy Premiere day!

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. Always love your work. Thanks. And today we will see Sam and Dean again and I hope you will see them soon enough.

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter VII**

Dean did one last digging through the old wooden coffin before standing up straight with the shovel still in his hand. He was facing the body of Elizabeth Murray, who was just left as a yellowish dark skeleton, resting but not in peace.

The girl killed herself twenty years ago, after years drowning in great distress from lack of attention by her family. But her death gained a great guilty feeling from her father, who since then was a constant visitor to her graveyard. But things turned to the downside a few weeks ago, after the cremation of the late Bill Murray, the man who always mourned for his daughter.

After the death of her father nobody remembered her anymore, and she just wanted people to at least acknowledge somebody else like her. So she started a series of suicides, choosing a few broken people as her victims.

"Hey Dean, you're done down there?" Bobby's harsh voice pulled Dean's thought from the little story.

"Yeah."

"Give me your hand." Dean looked up at the old hunter, who gave out his hand to him. Welcoming it gratefully, he climbed up to the yard before standing up with a mixed emotion.

He just looked down at the 'body', floating in a deep thought as Bobby tossed out the salt over the bones and ready with a match in his finger. Within a few seconds, the grave flamed up with a bright hot fire.

"She killed herself." Dean's flat voice caught Bobby's attention. He turned to his left, trying to read the look at the Winchester's face. But after a moment of silent, Bobby opened his mouth as if he was trying to say something before Dean decided to continue to talk.

"She killed herself because nobody cared about her."

The words snapped up Bobby's mind. He frowned as a new thought hit him like a bullet. _What was he thinking?_

"What's in your mind, boy?" Bobby's voice was hard, begging silently for a straight answer.

Dean didn't move for a few seconds until he turned his head up slowly to his right, meeting the older's eyes in the flame's light. His face didn't show any emotion but he seemed like he was thinking about something. As he took away from the eye contact after a few moments, he shook his head a little.

"Nothing."

Bobby stared at the young man from the corner of his eyes, hesitating of what to say. Two days of researching about this Elizabeth girl exhausted him emotionally and physically. He wanted to get through the hunt and finish it quickly but at the same time, he was worried about Dean. The boy was barely talking and kept drowning away in his own thought every once in a while. And all of that times, he couldn't help himself from keep throwing curses to John, but at the same time, he was regretted with himself too.

He should never stop encouraging the older Winchester to talk to Dean. They shouldn't just wait and see. The problem was never solved and the only thing they did was make it worse.

"Let's go Bobby."

Bobby sighed, picking up the shovel and tailing the young man.

--

"I said I'm fine. I'm not talking about this now." Dean tried to control his volume from bursting out too much. Apart from feeling annoyed of being the subject of questions for the whole day, he still had the respect for the old man. He understood that Bobby just wanted to make sure if he was okay. And besides, he didn't want to rely too much on the Singer. He helped him more than enough these past few days. And he appreciated that, more than anything.

"I just don't want you to think too much about your dad. He's not what you think he is. He never-"

"What? Hates me? Come on, Bobby. I never meant that. I was drunk remember." Dean turned to the man beside him. His grip on the steering wheel became harder as his knuckles turned white.

Bobby shook his head. If there was an official list of the boy's skills, Bobby would say that this was the last somebody would write. Even if he was harder to read sometimes, but at the same time, when it came to his feelings, he was not a good liar too.

"I don't care what you said. But one thing for sure, nobody ever hates you. Not even Sam. You know that."

But the sentence left to be the last as Dean turned his head back ahead to the worn down asphalt. He clenched his teeth hard, and stared straight to his front, never said anything anymore. Bobby too was gone to silence as he took defeat.

But only for this time.

The muteness continued until they reached Bobby's old porch as the day started to go dark.

Bobby stood out from the car, reaching his duffel from the backseat. He waited for Dean to get out from his car but a frown replaced his relaxed face when he noticed that Dean didn't turn off the engine before going out of the driver's door.

"You're not coming?"

"Nah. I'm going now." Dean leaned his waist to the car's door's frame.

"To meet your dad." Bobby threw the fact but made it sound like a question. He just wanted Dean to repeat it once, like it was swear he needed to hear.

Dean hesitated but replied anyway. "Yeah, to meet dad."

Bobby moved closer to Dean, grabbing the boy's broad shoulders in his hands with a small pat. "Just take care alright? Call me if you need anything."

Dean nodded with a small smile plastered sweetly on his face. "Bye Bobby."

"Bye."

Bobby stood up on the yard alone, watching the moving car until it was fading behind the corner.

He fingered his pocket, looking sadly at a nice small blade in his hand. Today was Dean's birthday, he remembered—but not really sure if John remembered about it—and he wanted to give something to the boy. But they didn't really celebrate birthdays. Never, that he ever remembered. Celebrating the boys' birthdays was just between the brothers, Dean and Sam. He and John were never involved. So, even if he wanted to give the blade as a present, he did not want Dean to remember the birthday without his brother.

Bobby sighed. Another time. _Yeah, another time._

--

Sam pulled out a book. He couldn't really concentrate on his study for over a week but the first paper was only two days ahead. He thought about Dean most of the time. But thing became better now. He got the feeling back to open up the books. And besides, he needed to study harder than he always did. There was too much he needed to cover up in a couple of days.

An hour passed by as he was busy writing down some notes on a small paper. His stomach churned, asking for a feed but Sam didn't really bother about that. His mind was in the middle of refreshing progress and he knew if he stopped now, he needed to start it all back from the beginning again to get to the same rate of feeling. He didn't want to kill the passion now.

_The stomach can wait for another hour._

But as he was about to reach another empty paper from at the end of the table, the phone rang crazily. He tried to not bother with the call, feeling a little bit sure that it was from Darwin, his course mate. The guy got too much time to drive him mad since yesterday.

"_Hey, I need to borrow your notes.__"_

"_Hey, did Dr.Cusack give the same questions every year?__"_

"_Dude, I lost my book. Can I borrow yours?__"_

After a sixth ring, the phone went still. Sam sighed in relief but as he was about to write the notes again, the vibration and the caller ringtone was back hitting his ears.

He snatched the phone with another sigh. But when he was about to hit the green button, he looked at the name on the screen. _Dean?_

His finger ran slightly to the button, uncertain of what to do. He was not ready for this now. And besides, he really didn't want to stop studying yet. He wasted too much times before and he didn't want to throw it aside this time.

_Maybe I can ask him to call back after the first paper._

And he hit the button.

"Hey… Dean."

"_Hey.__"_

"I… I'm sorry about before. About your last call."

"_It__'__s okay. Um… how__'__re you doing?__"_

"I'm good. You?"

"_I__'__m fine.__"_ It was just silent for a while after the reply. Sam started to feel discomfort. Dean seemed to not have a purpose for calling him, just like the last time. He didn't want to be rude but he didn't really have time right now. And he needed to say this now, before the conversation dragged any longer.

"Dean." Sam said with a little nervous.

"_Yeah?__"_ Sam frowned. There was something in Dean's voice that he couldn't point out. Dean sounded like he was expecting something.

"I kinda busy right now. Can you call back another time? I mean, not in these three days."

Silent.

"Dean?"

"_Yeah. Alright. I… right. Bye.__"_

Sam swallowed hard. "Bye." He hit the red button. A pit in his stomach told him that there was still something not right about this but _what is it?_

He shook his head, inhaling a deep breath before focusing back to the thick book in front of him. But unexpectedly the pencil was slipped from his hand, leaving a long mark on the note.

"Ugh." He sighed, fingering the box he put the eraser and feeling annoyed with his clumsiness. But suddenly a short gasp came out from his lips. And he felt like somebody just threw a punch in his gut. "Shit."

His eyes caught the calendar just aside of the box.

January 24th. It was today.

_It__'__s Dean__'__s birthday. And I just hung up on him._

_Again._

"Damn it." It came out as a whisper from his lips.

Sam grabbed the phone quickly, hitting the speed dial and hoping for a raw voice at the end of the line. After a while, he reached the voice. It was Dean's but just the machine. "Hey there. Leave your…"

_No! _He hit back the same button again but still, he got to the same voicemail.

Delivering a long sigh, he slumped back on the chair, head tilting back with his hand rubbed his face.

_God, why am I always doing this to him? I__'__m sorry Dean. I__'__m sorry._

TBC

**Opps, I did it right? What will happen then? I'm wondering too. :P Just kidding. I'll try to update again as soon as I can.**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **Hi guys, I couldn't believe that I keep updating this story. Usually, I'll hold on for more than a couple of days to update since I wanna see how it's going but for you, this is the new chapter. But a big WARNING! here because this is a Self-Destruction Dean chapter. Hope you like it. And don't try this at home.

**Beta'ed: **by Green Raven 212. COOOOOOOOOKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS for you. Phew, that's a big ones.

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter VIII**

Recklessly pulling the car over to the side of the dark road, Dean stumbled out of the Impala as he banged the door hard. His knees bent under him, sliding his back against the hard metal door.

He drew a shaking breathless sigh, closing his eyes shut and hit the back of his head to the cold metal. One of his hands still clutching the phone hard. Somebody called him a couple of times but after that it went silent and he didn't bother to look at the name.

"Damn! Damn it!" slipping the words carelessly, he hit his head back to the car each time.

It was his birthday and nobody was with him. He was alone. It was not that he was too desperate to hear a birthday wish or something, but recently, he couldn't help from feeling like a useless bastard. He just needed somebody, somebody that reminded him a feeling of home, of love, of family.

Dad.

Or Sammy.

They were family before. Even when their life was not as bright as the other families, but it was enough for him. He was happy. They were together.

As family.

But now, he was left behind, he was a loner, he was useless. Nobody ever needed him anymore.

Sam has his own new life. He got friends. He got school. He got everything he ever wanted before. When Sam left, he thought that the boy would be back, or at least call him once in a while, telling him that he still needed his big brother. But Dean was wrong. Sam was happy without him. He didn't even want to talk to him. He tried once before and he should know better now. Today's call was a mistake. Sam never remembered his birthday.

He never remembered the day he claimed he would never forget.

He never remembered the day he once said was the best day ever because that day, God gave a life to a person who became the most important person in his life.

It was all a lie.

Sam never remembered.

And Dad.

Dad was never the one he thought his dad was before. He was stupid. He should see it coming. Dad never needed him. He was never important. As soon as Sam left, they were barely hunting together. Everytime he came up with a new hunt, asking John to kill the son of a bitch together, he always being thrown away. Dad said that he was big enough, he could solo hunt anytime he wanted, telling him that it was the time to achieve what he wanted before.

And again, it was all a lie.

When Sam was with them before, Dad never really let him hunt alone. '_We needed to watch each other. We needed to be together._' And that were exactly the phrases that spurted out from the eldest himself everytime he wanted to run a simple solo hunt. Then why he kept sending him away after that?

Was Sam the only reason to keep him by his father's side? Was Sam the only reason for his dad to tell him how much the family needed him?

To take care of his brother.

He was not complaining. He was willing to do that even when there was no straight order for it. It was his job. But was it the truth? That John just told him all of that not because he was needed in his father's life, but he just being used like Sam always said to him.

That he was just a little soldier, not a son.

The vibration was back from the black gadget in his hand and pulled him out of the thought. 'Dad'. The three letters appear on the screen. Gripping the phone hard, he held his breathing for a while, wanting to feel the other side of life all of the sudden. He didn't know if he wanted to hear the voice. It might be just an order to go to the place they should meet.

It was not going to be a birthday wish.

And it might not be a concern question about him.

So, why would he care?

Should he ever care about a motel in Idaho? Should he concern about that?

No, nobody was there except a man who he should doubt by now ever admitting him as a son.

Slowly, he just let the phone slipped down from his palm onto the light stoned surface, leaving the vibration and the ringtone crazily crying for a pick up. The light from the phone was the only light that torching his face in the dark, making visible the pool of waters that started to showed up from the green eyes.

Dean sighed, clutching the eyelids together, resisting the tears from running down as if they would remind him of how weak he really was. He stood up slowly, swaying a little from a slight dizzy spell that came out of no where. He pulled the door open, throwing down his own weight into the leather seat with a huff.

The song from the phone was still singing outside of the car but his mind was starting to slip away for a countless times that night. His eyes fixed up onto the dark road, looking at nothing. After a while, a glimpse of light came out to view, silently telling him that a vehicle was coming up front.

And all of the sudden, the look in his eyes turned out so cold, so deadly that could send anybody to their graveyard just by taking a look at it. His hand slowly spun the key, starting the engine with a purr. The light was already never turned off since he first stopped there. Tuning into the first gear, he moved the car slowly onto the road, leaving the phone singing alone behind.

The Impala was moving for a couple of yard before his foot hit the break, letting the big black metal auto made a present in the middle of the old asphalt, silently. The previous light was moving closer but still far away.

Dean took one more glance to his front, judging the distant between the two vehicles. He turned off the engine suddenly before turning off the headlights of the Impala, hiding the visible car in the blanket of the dark night. Leaning his back softly against the seat, he calmly locked his eyes to a red truck that started to show its full form into the view.

The truck was speeding into his way but Dean knew he was still invisible from the driver's eyes. The weather and the dark clouds in the sky made it nearly impossible to see his baby. Until their distance was about fifteen yards away, the red truck seemed to start to hold down its speed, the horn started to sound and the light was started to flash out a few times.

But it was too late now.

Dean looked at the sky with a small smile. _They don__'__t want me, maybe after all I always belong to your side, mom._

"I'm sorry Dad, Sammy." He whispered, closing his eyes and tilted down his head to the ground, waiting for the impact he was sure hurt bad but he didn't really mind. The last thing he remembered was the sharp pain on his side before his world rolled out black.

--

_Come on, Dean. What the hell are you doing? Did you just wanna play game with me again?_

John hit the red button as he reached the mailbox for like a hundred times. He didn't know what the problem with the kid was. Dean started to get on his nerves lately and now, again. Maybe Bobby was right. Maybe the young man really needed the talk. But for sure, it was not an easy talk. As he hit the call button once more, he twisted the curtain a little with his fingers, just to take a peek out at the weather outside.

_Or maybe he__'__s stuck somewhere._

Somehow, the image of an injured Dean came out in his mind, battered up and vulnerable. A chill down his spine hit with an uneasy feeling tightening a knot in his chest. Shaking his head a few times, he ended up the call quickly. _No, it couldn__'__t be. He__'__s okay. He__'__s alright. It__'__s just a stupid feeling._

Walking back to the motel's bed, he thought about Bobby. The old friend must know something. They hunted together. And maybe Dean just didn't want to talk to him again like before so he must be somewhere at Bobby's place. _Yeah, it must be it._

Scrolling down his contacts number, John stopped at Bobby's name, hitting the button and started to wait silently until he heard a soft click at the end of the line. "Bobby?"

"John? It's two in the morning."

"I know. I'm sorry. Is Dean with you?"

"No, he left to Idaho about… eight hours ago. Didn't he call you?" Even Bobby couldn't hide the worry in his voice and it just made John feel a little worse.

Ignoring the question, he answered back with another question. "Hey, did he tell you if he wanted to go somewhere else first? I tried to call him like a thousand times but he's not answering his phone."

The silence he got from the old friend added nothing to his comfort. Besides, it sent another pit in his stomach. "Bobby, say something."

A long heave of sigh made appearance in his ears. John waited until Bobby's grunge-slow-concerned voice was able to utter from the other line. "John, I'm not sure about this but I think your son's in trouble."

TBC

**Leave me some reviews will ya...**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **I can't believe it when I read all those awesome and gorgeous reviews. Thanks guys. And I just realize that I did not reply reviews from those who didn't sign in. I will but maybe I forgot. Please forgive me. I'll try to reply another time because I need to do it by emails and I always forgot. But thanks anyway. One more thing, this will be my last update for a while. Maybe for a couple of weeks or so. I'm not sure yet. I'm still writing but not updating. PLease be patient. And for those who asking about my other stories, I'm not abandoning them. I'll update, just not now. Sorry again.

**Beta'ed: **by Green Raven 212. If you're living right in my neighbourhood, I'll cook for you everyday you know :D (But I'm not a good cook :P)

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter IX**

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

A few moments of silence went by before Bobby opened his mouth again. "I… I think he's kinda suicidal."

"What?! Don't talk any shit here Bobby. This is my son we're talking about. Suicide? Where the hell did you get the idea to talk any nonsense like this." John's voice was raw but clear enough that he was trying not to burst out straight to his friend.

"John, listen to this. Dean thought that you-"

"I know what he thought but I don't hate him alright? He's my son. How… how is that possible for me to hate him?"

Bobby went silent, thinking about the best way to tell his friend about his opinion. He knew this was just a misunderstanding between the father and son but he also knew that, whatever the truth was, Dean's feeling was not an easy thing to deal with. From what he could tell, the boy was slipping way too far now. And deep down his heart, he was kind of regret with himself for not stopping the boy from leaving that evening.

"John, I'm not saying that he's really suicidal but ever since we finished the hunt with the girl's case, he seemed too attached to it. He kept talking about suicide, about how her family ditched her. If you looked at his face, you'll see something. It's just… Ugh… Look, I don't know how to tell you this but its better if we take it as precaution. Maybe I was wrong but he's too broken to be ignored. Just… I'll try to find him from here and you better hit the road now."

Bobby waited for any reply which he got none. The only thing he heard from the other line was a sigh and a slow breathing. He knew that John was thinking and he just hoped that the other man could believe him and start to move before it was too late.

After a while, John's voice started to step back on the phone. "Hey Bobby."

"Yeah."

"I… I made a mistake right?" Bobby swallowed. John sounded too different. It was not the same John he used to know. But somehow, he felt relief because the Winchester started to admit his mistake. But as a friend, saying a straight yes for the question was too cruel.

"We all made the same mistake John. And we still have time to fix it. Let's just hope that nothing happened to our boy, that it was just my paranoia."

"Yeah. Thanks Bobby. And call me if you hear anything."

"And John…"

"Yeah?"

"It's his birthday."

"Yeah, I know Bobby. I do remember." With one click, they ended up the conversation.

--

John gripped the steering wheel hard, turning his knuckle white. He didn't really know where he was headed because he really had no idea of where his son was. It was nearly three hours since the conversation with Bobby and he still couldn't get his mind off what he learned. _Suicide? There__'__s no way Dean would ever think about it._

But Bobby was not a stranger to just ignore the friend's opinion. Most of the time, the old marine could read his boys way too good to just being called a family's friend.

Am I that bad as a father?

John shook his head, holding away the tears from pooling up in his eyes. He grabbed his phone from the pocket, trying to reach his son for a countless time. It was being an hour since his last call. Maybe Dean would pick up the phone this time. As he locked the gadget to his ear, he waited patiently.

And there was a click at the end of the line, giving him a big relief. _Thank God._

"Dean."

"Hello?" John frowned. The voice was not Dean's. It belonged to some old man, or maybe some bastard who did something to his son. Maybe that was why Dean couldn't answer his calls.

"Who are you?! Where's my son?!" His voice matched the abrupt stop he made in the middle of the road.

"Sir, please calm down. I'm Roger Hill. And I'm not a bad guy, I'm a sheriff."

"A sheriff?" _Damn it Dean. What did you do this time?_ He cursed but somehow the answer calmed him down a bit. Dean was okay. His son was okay. "Where is he?"

"Which one is your son, Sir? The guy with a truck or an Impala?"

What the hell was this guy talking about? What kind of trouble his son in to involve the vehicles?

Before he could answer, he heard another voice at the end of the line. "Roger! We got the body out!"

_Body? What body? Oh God! Is there an accident?_

"Where's my son?!" he couldn't help from sounding helpless. The grip to the phone started to lose but he knew he needed to be strong.

"Sir, I found this phone not far from an accident. I'm just not sure if your son's one of…" Before the sheriff could finish his sentence, John cut him with a trembling voice.

"The Impala. My son drives an Impala. Is… is he okay?" _Please God, let him be okay._

A few seconds of pause just added his nervous. "Your son, he's hurt bad sir. But he's alive."

That was all he needed to hear. That the body he heard before was not Dean. His son was alive. His son was still alive. He gulped down a swallow before opening up his lips again. "Where's that? I go there now."

"He's just being taken away to the hospital. St. Edward Hospital. Just outside Idaho."

"I'm on my way."

Roger Hill stood still when he heard a click ended up the call. He did not even know the name of the guy, did not even know if he was a fraud or something. But the 'dad' ID in the kid's phone—he just assumed it was the kid's phone even when he found the phone abandoned by the side of the road—told him silently that he was not wrong.

Shoving the phone into his pocket, he walked down the road to the scene. Two paramedics just wrapped up the body from the red truck that slumped into a tree at the side of the road. He was about to approach them when he saw a police officer tried to open the trunk of the wracked Impala not far from the red truck. He then moved quickly to the man but not before the trunk was half opened.

"Hey, wait."

The man in blue garment looked up at him with a questioning look.

"Let me take care of this car." The words did not seem to be approved by the younger male.

"I need to finish this now. I have a lot of reports to do. Don't waste my time." His voice sounded annoyed.

"Then I'm just making your job easier. Look…" Roger bent down a little to look at the name. "Officer Riley, this is my town. Let me handle this. Just the vehicles. You will find them checked in at your station by afternoon. I'll make sure that everything will be just like they should be. I just wanna help."

The officer sighed, closing down the top of the trunk and gave up the keys into Roger's palm. "Alright. That truck too."

Roger nodded, waiting for a while to let the other guy left him alone with the Chevy before he let out a heavy sigh. He patted the metal of the car, chanting in his head what he was going to do next.

Because the kid would be damned if anybody knew about the weapons in the trunk.

--

_Three hours ago…_

Roger pulled a torch from the glove box of his truck. He was off duty and on his way home after spending half a night at his sister's when he stumbled over the accident. A big red truck was slumped into a tree just at the side of the road and a black car, a 69's or 67's Chevy was scrapped not far from the first vehicle.

As he made the emergency call, he jogged a little to the red truck.

There was a guy, at late thirty, flaccidly still on his seat. Red blood was splatter at the cracked window. From the way his body and his seat wilting forward, he was sure it was bad.

He tried to open the door but failed. So, when he saw the front screen was splattered, he just took the way, fingering the guy's throat to find a pulse. And his previous concern was right when he could not find one. He tried to grab the wrist, just to make sure the man was really already dead. Same thing he got, no flowing blood in the vein.

So, not wanting to waste any more time on the dead body, he moved quickly to the other car.

The black old auto was a mess. The front hood was smashed up, leaving the engine exposed and the left side of the car was wracked pretty good. And the way the top of the car got busted up just telling the story that the vehicle was spinning at least once in the accident.

Roger needed to get really close to the car before he could take a good look at any person inside. The smoke from the engine and the cold morning vapor did not give him any help. The door was stuck from the broken metal but he tried anyway, pushing a little more effort to pull the front passenger's door open. But the view he got from inside was leaving him with a small gasp.

A young man—a kid actually, much younger than he ever expected driving the machine—was strapped behind the steering wheel, blood running down from the side of his head, wetting most of his hair and even in the dark, Roger could see the red fluid was starting to pour out from the lips too, creating a line down the chin.

He stepped inside, bending his right knee on the leather cushion and took out his hand to the throat, the same thing he did with the dead guy just before except this time he was sure this boy was alive but barely. He needed to get the rate. The way his shallow breathing in and out quickly from the injured body concerned him the most. _Damn kid, you__'__re a mess. _He thought alone as he got what he needed. The pulse was too fast for his liking.

The boy was sunk against the crashed door on his side with the steering wheel jabbed his ribs with its hard round. Roger knew, there was no way the ribs were just cracked, it must be broken to result the breathing sounded like what he heard. And from the amount of blood caking in the boy's shirt and seat, it was just a matter of time he could be in shock.

He needed something, a blanket maybe but he didn't have one. _Maybe this kid has it. _

After a brief scan in the backseat, he rose to his feet and moving quickly to the trunk. He sighed in relief as he saw a grey afghan folded like a ball inside of the compartment. He tried to grab it out but something halted the blanket from him to do so. But as he pulled the heavy blanket aside, trying to see the source of the problem, he could not help but feeling all curious. The thing that hold the blanket in place was a small black cylinder that came out from under the base of the trunk, hooking the edge of the blanket with its shape and he swore it looked a lot like a gun.

Without any hesitation, he pushed the blanket further inside and forced the hard base up to expose the beneath. And the revealing was nothing he ever expected.

He was just stumbled over a boy hunter.

TBC

**Yeah, I think it's not as good as the previous chapter but I hope it's just fine. Tell me something.**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: **I'm so sorry everyone. I didn't mean to take longer than two weeks to update. I took a week of holiday, a week of getting something settled on my workplace and then I was planning to write something but two weeks away from this writing thing just put a hole in my head, nothing came up to write. But the good news here, I'm just checking on my folder and I really really am sorry, there is one more chapter betaed but totally forgotten. So here goes, the forgotten chapter :P. Sorry readers, my mistake. And thanks a lot for the bunch of awesome reviews. And about the next chapter, I'm working on it. Half of it was already done but I don't want to make another promise. Let's just hope that I can work it out okay.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. She's awesome and she's starting to write. I'm happy for you. Good luck!

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter X**

As the door was opened, John looked up from the floor to the guy in scrub who just walked out of the theatre to the waiting corner. For a while, he hesitated, not sure of what to do. He was itching to know about his son but at the same time, he was afraid of what he might hear.

He just arrived for about twenty minutes, rushing into the hospital just to find out that his son was under an emergency surgery. But the short wait felt like hours, draining his emotions as the time past.

"Mr. Martin?"

"Yes." He stood up. With experience, the response came out sincerely from his lips, as a reflex to the stranger name. He knew Dean was on that surname for the previous hunt, but he just hoped that he brought the right ID with him. Just in case.

They moved to each other, decreasing the parted length. He might be wrong, but the sign he saw on the doctor's face was nothing he wanted to see. He was good in reading faces, but lately—with Dean particularly—he felt like he was kind of starting to lose the ability. And he hoped it was the same thing happening right now.

"I'm Dr. Richard Sullivan, your son's physician. The surgery finally turned out good just like we like it to be. He'll be in recovery for 24 hours before we move him to his room, depending on his condition later. Don't worry, he's in good hands."

The late thirties doctor gave a small smile to his patient's family, expecting some kind of relief sign from the man in front of him. Normally, the information was enough to gain some good response from a concerned family but the frown he received from the guy slipped him away from his comfortable state.

"What do you mean 'finally turned out'? Did you expect anything else? What about the injuries? Don't leave any details here, doc. This is my son we're talking about."

The doctor nodded, knowing now that he needed to deal with this case another way. He pulled in a long breath before shoving out the information.

"The impact of the accident left him with fatal condition. When he arrived, he was really in a bad shape. Head injury, one fractured and three broken ribs. But the thing is, one of the broken ribs created a small cut to his artery, it was really small but just enough to give away a lot of blood from his system, slowly. His heart gave out twice on the table because of the lost blood. But we found the leak in time and repaired it. Hopefully, if there's no complication in his recovery, everything should be alright."

John took a big heavy breath before letting out a shaking sigh. He wanted to ask more when the door was opened for another time, revealing a patient on a gurney being rolled out before him. Too much tubes and wires surrounding the person just made him slip an instinctive question. "Is that my son?"

The doctor was just about to answer the man when John was already a few feet apart from him, launching himself to the kid on the gurney.

John got himself near his son, almost let out a small gasp as he saw the face. Dean was too pale and the white blanket enfolding his damaged body did not help anything to make the boy appear well. And the oxygen mask—one of the attendants kept pumping it—covering his lower face just made it worse. As they moved to the elevator, John let out his hand to his son, gripping the still arm as if he let go, the world would end on the spot. The pace was not that fast but he kept feeling that if they move any further, he might pass out himself.

Seeing Dean this vulnerable was not new to him, but this time, it was different. Their relationship was in a downhill and the guilt he felt was nothing to compare right now, not even with the way he let his younger son go to Stanford. The only thing he felt relief for right now was just how wrong Bobby was. His son was not suicidal.

If only he knew that he was the one who was totally wrong.

--

John stirred in his sleep, emergently feeling a danger. There was a figure standing not far from him, and his unconscious son.

_Dean._

The name appeared in his head snapped his eyes open. He was in a hunter mode all of the sudden.

"Whoa, chill down there Johnny."

"Bobby?" the weight left his shoulder in a split second as soon as he knew who the person was. Bobby stood at the end of Dean's bed, giving him a greeting glance before pulling back their eye contact to continuously stare down to his son's still figure under the blanket.

"I came as soon as you called me." The words came out from the bearded older hunter, unconsciously brushing an appreciative feeling through the Winchester.

"Yeah, thanks for coming, Bobby." John said but he knew, Bobby was not coming for him, not for his son either. But he did it for himself. The bond between the friend and Dean was as close as a father and a son.

Thinking about that, a slight jealousy came through him but he swept it out as soon as it appeared. He has no right to feel something like that. Bobby was a good friend and he was lucky when there was still a person who cared and looked out for his son—both his sons—when he couldn't.

"How is he?"

John looked up again at the old hunter, inhaling a deep breath before landing his sight to his unconscious son. "Doctor said he's going to be alright. Maybe with a lot of pain for a couple of week because of the broken ribs, but he will live."

Bobby winced. Broken ribs were not fun. Hurting your limbs was better even if sometimes, they took longer to heal but ribs, no thanks. It was the last injury he would rather take.

Bobby scanned the still figure on the bed. If John was right, it did not sound too bad. But from what he heard from the nurse, the accident was kind of awful. The other guy was dead for God sake. He wondered what Dean might think about it, and even what was actually happened to lead the accident. Hopefully, it was not the boy's fault because if it was, Dean would never live through it. The boy had enough in his head, he didn't need another problem to mix in.

"What about the car?" Bobby asked, again carefully studying the injured boy. If the other driver was dead, must be the car that saved Dean. John didn't say anything about the Impala, not even asking him to clean up the trunk. And he doubted if the Winchester already took care of it because the man barely had time to get to this hospital. So, he wondered what happened to her.

"Nobody knows anything. The officer that took care of it was already gone when I'm here and they said, he might be here again tomorrow. I don't want to leave him just to find the car, Bobby. So, maybe I'd just ask the officer tomorrow." John rubbed his face with a sigh, leaning his head back, back to the chair.

Bobby was surprised at John's less concern about the weapons, not something he usually did. Yes, he should be with Dean but at least, let somebody else do the job. There were a few fellow hunters not far from there. And it was day—4.30pm—the visiting hours were not even over yet. "You don't think they'll find the weapons?" There was a little challenge in his voice.

"They might already do but if they did, they should be here right now, asking me questions and everything. So, I take it they didn't."

Bobby shook his head at the nonchalant statement. "Yeah, not yet. Whatever John, but I'll see what I can do."

--

Bobby pulled over his truck not far from the yard. He was asking about the Impala for ages at the police station—not really the Impala because he was afraid they already found out the weapons, so he asked about the other vehicle in the accident—before the officer there decided to tell him about this place. _Damn freaking cop_. He knew they need to file the report and everything but it didn't mean that the cars were theirs.

Bobby jumped over the fence, carefully made sure that the duffel bag he carried was not in his way. He moved in silence, not wanting anybody to see him. But it was dark so he really doubted about that. He didn't have to walk further inside, behind a few scrap metals, he found the black Chevy, dumped carelessly on the muddy yard. Parted by only a couple of yards, a red truck was laid unmoving. _Must be the dead guy__'__s_.

Bobby walked slowly to the Impala, looking around for any disturbances before pulling the key out. The Impala was as good as a half-garbage but the trunk top was still looking good.

Slowly, he turned the key in the hole, ended with a click. The trunk was opened with a sound and Bobby pulled up the hard cover, mostly expecting the weapons. But what he saw just punching his gut, left him with a frown.

There was no such thing as small as a hunting blade in the compartment. It was nothing. Not even the sections. They were gone.

The weapons were gone.

TBC

**Well, if some of you was wondering about the Sheriff, he will be back. Reviews are always welcomed. **


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **Okay, kick me, hate me, cuss me, whatever you wanna do. I know it's my fault to keep you waiting for this long. I just started to write again and it took all my brain to put this story into words again. It's hard when you didn't write for quite a time. It's like the ability (as if I ever had it before) is fading slowly and took all your will to write again. I just hope this chapter reaches your expectation. For those who waited for Sam, he will be back in Chapter 13 and we can see more and more of him in as the story goes.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. As usual, she helps me all the time. Thanks for the commitment. Hot cookies again for you (it's really hot for your cold day :D)

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter XI**

His eyes fixed to the laying figure, elbows on knees, fingers locking tightly to each other. His face showed mixed expressions of concern and annoyance. It had been nearly eighteen hours since the surgery and a couple of hours of the last sedative, but Dean didn't yet show any interest to waking up. The doctor said that he should regain consciousness in this hour but that was just an estimate.

John sighed. Dean never heard what the doctors said so why would he bother obeying them now? Even in his unconscious state, he was still stubborn as hell. No surprise there.

John pulled a deep breath, straightening his back that started to wear him down. Pulling the chair under him closer to the bed, he swallowed as he made a further contact with his son's arm. One hand reached out to brush away the already short hair from Dean's forehead. Usually, the dark blonde will be spiked up the head but now, they just lay down in all ways, making the owner looked more vulnerable. It revealed the innocence from the face, something he swore, reminded him a lot of the four year old kid that he used to adore years ago. But the innocence was long gone, masked by the cocky-steady-strong face years after that.

John clenched his jaw guiltily, fingers brushing a few more hairs from the fair skin. The move made him notice a small cut to the left eyebrow-- not new enough to be one from the accident.

_Might be from the last hunt._

John hesitated for a moment. Yeah, the last hunt. A hunt he didn't even participate in. So how the hell did he knew if the cut was from the hunt. Might be from the previous hunt or the previous of the previous hunt. Who knew? He didn't notice. He wasn't even there. Because last time he checked, Dean was alone in the recent five hunts—except the last one with Bobby.

"_He thought you hate him.__"_ Bobby's voice whispered in the back of his head all of a sudden. He frowned, darting his eyes to the peaceful face before him. _Why Dean? I didn__'__t hate you. I never would. Why did you think of someth…_ The wrinkles between his eyes hardened, trying to bring back the memory of the past few weeks.

---

_His hand impatiently rummaging inside the bag, trying to find the keys which he accidentally left in the duffel before shoving all of his clothes inside. He was certain he didn__'__t make any noise but the soft moan he heard from the other bed in the motel room told him the opposite._

"_Dad?__"_

_He just answered with a hum._

"_What are you doing?__"__ Dean pushed himself up with his palm, holding his upper body upright. He was more alert now. Half-sleepy eyes narrowed as he looked at his surroundings, focusing more on his father. His dad was holding duffel__—a __full duffel__—__and he was ready with jacket and boots and everything._

_Dean was up to his feet in a second, reaching his shirt by the end of the bedpost. __"__Where are we going? The shapeshifter was still out there. Did it get away?__"__ He asked as fast as he started to pack his own things._

"_You stay Dean.__"_

_Dean didn__'__t seem to hear it. He put on his jeans as fast as he could. He took the right boot from the floor, sitting on the bed to wear the heavy wader. __"__Or did it already die? Who killed it?__"_

"_Dean.__"_

_Dean stopped, shifting his eyes up to his father. The second boot was left unlaced on his left foot._

"_You stay here. We already found its lair. Just finish the hunt.__"__ John didn__'__t miss the confusion wrapping up the younger__'__s face. It took a few seconds after that for Dean to register the situation._

"_And you__'__re leaving?__"__ Dean asked, however it turned out more like a whisper. He couldn__'__t hide the tremble from leaving his lips along with the question but he was sure that his Dad didn__'__t notice it__—__which he didn__'__t bother if he did anyway, not this time. He couldn__'__t control his feelings so well right now, couldn__'__t put the mask on as fast as he used to. His mind was still processing the information. _Is he just leaving me? Like Sam did?

"_Make sure you have the silver bullets with you all the time. I just put a full stock of them in your trunk. There__'__s nothing happening this night but I__'__m sure it will be back again tomorrow. I__'__m going to Nebraska, there's something supernatural going on up there. I__'__ve just got a call from a friend. You know what to do right? I__'__ll call you later in a few days.__"__ John didn__'__t even look up to his son. His hand expertly cocking the shotgun, making sure the rock salt was ready as he put a six shooter in his waistband._

_Dean sat still, realization started to wash upon him. He swallowed his dry throat, not even caring to hold back any words. He hadn't really been in the mood for talking these past few months but tonight, it was different. He needed to make sure of something that he started to admit the truth behind it, but deep down in his heart there was still a hope that he was wrong._

"_If… if I was still sleeping, would you just be leaving, just like that? In the middle of the night without letting me know anything?__"_

"_Is that a big deal? Just how many times do I need to tell you that it__'__s time for you to have your solo hunt? We've done this recently, quite a few times. And isn__'__t that what you always wanted?__"_

"_I__'__m not talking about the job Dad. It__'__s about you__'__re leaving me in the middle of the night without telling me anything__"__ Dean wasn't even aware of his own voice dragging the last words with a shaking sound._

"_What__'__s the difference? I__'__ll call you later anyway. Like always.__"_

"_But you…__"_ never left. You never left me like this. Leaving without a word. It's like you're really leaving, leaving me alone, just like Sam did. Once you do it, you will do it again and again until you're leaving me for real.

_But the words halted in his throat, stopped by a lump that started to give him an ache in his chest, more like in his gut. He bit his tongue, swallowed his own pity just by himself. _If he didn't want me anymore, why didn't he just say it. He showed it already anyway.

"_Don__'__t make anymore excuses Dean. You stay. Finish it like we planned before. This is an order Dean. You got that?__"_

_Jaw clenched, fist folded hard, Dean looked down to the floor, amazingly successful to hold the sickness in his stomach. He pulled a deep breath as he replied the hard command just like he always did. He switched to be the person he always was. _

_A soldier._

_A good little soldier._

"_Yes sir.__"_

---

_I left him. I left him just like that. Oh God. Is that why he thought that I hate him? I left him when he needed me the most, when he thought that I__'__m the one he has as family after Sam__'__s…_

"Oh God, Dean. I'm sorry. I never thought…" Yeah, he never thought anything before. Never thought about his son's feeling, never thought about the consequences of his actions to his son. He never really thought about anything concerning his family—his relationship with his son, both his sons—except the revenge. He was never thinking.

He screwed up. Big time.

John fought back tears that pooled around his eyes. Unconsciously, he held Dean's arm too tight it left a mark. "Shit." He swore when he couldn't hold the tears from bursting out a little more. He scrunched his eyes tight, fingers leaving Dean's greasy hair to wipe the watery eyelids.

Bzzz…

The vibration made him jump a little. John shoved his hand to grab the vibrating phone from his pocket, looking at the name _Bobby_ flashing up the screen. He grunted but stood up anyway, without thinking, he brushed Dean's left ear to his jaw on his way out—as if he was saying that he would be back.

He walked until he reached the visitor's toilet and answered the call as he dragged his legs into the restroom.

"What is it Bobby?" He hunched his waist to the marble sink, gripping the phone with his left hand and holding his posture with his right.

"Hello to you too John. How's the kid doing?" a little sarcastic but followed by the concerned tone from the other line.

John sighed. "Just the same. Nothing much changed. Where are you? What is it?" It was the second time the same phrase was being questioned.

"Were you sending someone to take care of the weapons?"

John hesitated for a while, making up a little thought. "No. Well, I didn't-"

"They're gone." Bobby snapped the sentence up.

John felt his gut tightening. Could it be any worse in a day? "You mean, like… gone?"

"Yeah, gone." Bobby was practically rolling his eyes with his words. But then the hunter at the other line continued, "I went to the salvage yard, expecting to bring home the weapons but I swear to you, the trunk, its empty. There was nothing, not even the compartment."

"There must be some explanation to this. The police should be here long ago if they found the weapons. But they didn't." John closed his eyes, rubbing the really tired face.

"I know. But hey, I just wanna let you know, to keep you informed. Don't think any further about this. I'll find out what happened. I'm on the way to the hospital now. Just get back to your son, John."

"Yeah, thanks Bobby. Bye." He turned away, facing the mirror. The black bags were starting to appear around his eyes, adding the grudge to his look.

He studied his own face for a while, trying to draw a mind picture of his sons to the mirror. Dean nor Sam, neither looked a lot like him. Dean took more from his mother and some from his grandparents, Mary's parents. While Sam looked a lot like his grandfather, his father, the late Joseph Winchester. But still, neither looked like him. Maybe apart from hair colour for Sam and his jaw line for Dean, also the stubbornness they _mostly _inherited, that was all. Nothing much.

He remembered the time when he felt like the luckiest guy on earth—with two sweet little boys and a beautiful wife—he felt like he was ready to give up anything for them. He wanted to give them everything, to love the boys with all his heart, to make sure they were safe, that they were happy.

But now, even when they lived a life basically of his love to his wife—to their mother—he started to realize that, other than his genes, the boys didn't get anything from him, not even his love.

He did love them, he swore. But he did nothing to let them know about it, to make them feel like he did. Everything seemed to fade. His part as a father was a failure. There was no wonder when Dean thought that he hated him. And Sam had already taken his bit to tell him about it—by leaving.

All of a sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by the pace outside of the restroom.

"What the…" He frowned. _Dean!_

He drew himself out of the door, the same time as a group of people fading inside Dean's room. He didn't waste any second as he ran to the same door just to be held by the closed curtain. And for his horror, the only thing he could hear was the alarm—_or was that a flat line_.

_No. No. This can__'__t be right. He__'__s being better._

He was worried, scared even but he still had control over his mind—if only he could burst behind the curtain to see what was happening but he knew better than that. He was used to this situation but it didn't mean that he wasn't scared.

So he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

30 seconds. 50 seconds. 1 minute.

_Isn__'__t that too long? Dean could suffer brain damage._

He was just about to storm inside the curtain when he heard the alarm stop and the sound from the heart beat was stable. He let out a shaky relief.

He stepped backward until his rear reached the wall. He couldn't believe his own will to stand still so he supported his weight to the hard surface, praying for everything to be alright.

Fifteen minutes, that was all they took before the curtain was unwrapped—just a little—and Dr. Sullivan appeared, walking forward to him. He might be blind but he promised, there was a smile on the doctor's face.

"What happened?"

The smile didn't fade, except it was getting wider. "Your son's awake."

TBC

**So, what about a nice review. The new green button looks good for a click :P But I think I need to warn something for the future chapters. This story is going to be a depressedDean story. If it's a little/too out of character, I'm sorry. It's just, I love to write something that I believe, we don't get to see in the show. I love the show the way it is but for my imagination, I love a lot more drama :D So, hopefully to see you again in a few days.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: **Thanks for the awesome reviews guys. You're so supportive. Most of you just responded to what I mentioned about depressedDean in this story, and I'm so glad that you're gonna love it. I just hope I write this story just the way I picture it. Because my imagination is nothing good when I don't have enough vocabulary to put them into words. Hopefully, they turn out just the way you and I want it. So, here Chapter 12, enjoy!

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. Hot chocolate cake for you! With Jared's and Jensen's candies on top :D

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter XII**

"He's… he's awake?" The vibration in his voice didn't match his own expression. When the doctor nodded, John smiled. His son was awake. _Dean__'__s awake._

Dr. Sullivan was praising himself silently. Finally, he managed to get a smile on the face of Joseph Martin. That man has something that affected the people around him, not only his nurses but himself too. For him, this guy was asking too much question and he couldn't dodge any of it. One of the nurses on duty just called him the creepy dad but the other one was mentioning him as attractive—she practically had a crush on him. Creepy but attractive, how was that possible? And just for one day here?

It just made him wonder about the son.

"But if he's awake, what happened just now?"

He knew that his job was never going to end right there when he heard the question from the older Martin—and he believed his smile which was previously there was fading too fast before he could stop it because the same thing happened to the grudge man before him as the question flew.

"About that… actually I have a question about his condition before the accident because I couldn't find this in his record. Did he have anything concerning about his psychological health? I mean, did he feel stressed or extremely sad about something or stuff like that before the accident?"

John frowned. _Damn, what kind of question is that? Are we going to play the suicidal game again?_

"I don't understand. Has this something to do with what happened just now? What happened?" His voice was firm but he clearly meant business.

"He refused to breath." _What the… _The answer was really out of his expectation. But he just let the doctor continue.

"He set off the alarm when the machine detected his oxygen level was below normal. But when we arrived he was barely conscious enough to pull the oxygen line from his aid. When we wanted to help him, he really put a fight until we gave him some sedative but he kept whispering that he's already dead, that he didn't need to breathe."

"What? He might be hallucinating. And you drugged him back after he was just awake?" The doctor frowned like he didn't expect the response.

"No, he's still awake. We gave him enough just to relax so he didn't rupture the stitches. That's why I need to know if he was upset about something that brought this thing to happen or if it was just a panic attack."

John was silent for a while. Even if it was weird when the doctor said about the whispering, he didn't think he needed to tell everything about Dean having been so upset and acting strange before the accident because one thing for sure, this would lead to another comment about his son's mental health. And not like Bobby, this man has a damn diploma to make him believe that he was right about everything. He could put Dean under the freaking suicide watch and that was the last thing he needed right now.

Hell, that was the last thing his son needed right now.

He was not going to let that happen and he knew, he was right about this. Dean was not as fragile as they thought.

"No. I mean, of course he was stressed about something before, the kid his age took everything matter. But I'm sure, there's nothing that happened before to make him act like this."

"If that is so, I believe it was just a panic attack. I'm not the right person to diagnose this but I'm concerned about PTSD. It stands for-"

Before the doctor could finish it, John spilled out his comprehension first. "Post traumatic stress disorder."

If it didn't change anything, it surely changed the doctor's impression about this man. But then he couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed when this Joseph guy noticed his awe.

"Don't be too shocked. Dean had it when he was four. Something bad happened to us and he was just different after that. The doctor said he had PTSD. So I was kinda familiar with the term. But he's okay now, just in case you… wondered."

So that was the story. Dr. Sullivan cleared his throat. "Since you already knew about PTSD, we're going to get your son a proper check up and I'll let you know the rest. And we also want to monitor him closely with the broken ribs. He really pulled a real stunt with that just now. If everything's according to plan, we'll move him to a regular room by morning." Their talk was interrupted when a nurse drawing the curtain open, revealing his son on the bed.

"If you wanna say hi, I think you better see him now because the drug will make him sleepy." The physician said.

John shifted his posture. That was something he waited since the first second they talked. Shaking the doctor's hand and appraising the thanks, he walked closer to the bed, ignoring the movement out from the room.

Dean looked similar, but different than before, at the same time. His eyes still closed but the breathing was changed, confirming his consciousness. John inhaled a deep breath, stepping carefully closer to his boy but quickly checking his guard as the closed eyes opened slowly.

"Hey buddy."

------

_The light is too bright._

_Where am I now? Heaven?_

_No, I__'__m not supposed to be in heaven. I__'__m a bad person._

But then a weird sound was knocking inside his head, louder and louder, followed by a sharp pain on his torso.

_No, might be in hell._

The piercing pain became more intense, as if it sliced his flesh little by little.

_No. The pain is too little for hell. It should be unbearable._

But then, the odor that started to stride in his scent triggered a quick memory. _No._

_No. No. No. I__'__m not supposed to be here._

He opened his eyes wide, looking in panic as he could see the white ceiling and hear the beeping sound.

"No…" His voice was strange. It was too slow. He wanted to scream.

_NO! TAKE ME BACK! I__'__M DEAD!!!_

He closed his eyes hard. He tried to shut everything—his sight, his hearing, his breathing, his mind—hoping for this to be unreal, to be only his imagination. But the harder he tried, the harder it became—especially the breathing part. One of the machines started to blaze a loud sound.

He turned to his left, ignoring the screaming pain in his head and chest as he curled into a ball, cupping his ears to dodge out the sounds—straining the oxygen tube that hooked to his nose in order to complete the position until the long object was pulled off completely from the machine.

His lungs were on fire, crying for a breath. His chest was hurting like he'd just been hit with a ton of hard iron. His eyes were red, spreading out tears. But he didn't want to move, he didn't want to breathe. The only thing he needed right now was to be sent to heaven—or hell. He didn't care.

_God, why is it so hard._

_No. Let it be. Let it be. I__'__m dead. I don__'__t have to breathe._

But suddenly, a pair of hands pulled his shoulder and waist so quick he didn't have time to respond. Voices were thrown around him, louder and louder. He couldn't stop them to hit his ears anymore. Hands were holding him down.

_God damn it! Let go of me._

He tried to fight but they fought back. All of a sudden, a warm object was walling his lower face and a hiss of cold gas spraying his skin. He knew what that was. They tried to make him breathe.

"No… I'm dead. Don't… wanna breath…" He wanted to hit his head. His words didn't come out loud. They were just a whisper.

He pulled his face to his left, trying to grasp that damn mask. But everytime he did, he just reached half way before a hand—that was getting stronger or was he just getting weaker—grabbed his moving arm back to his side.

He tried to move his arm for another time but they held him down harder before a quick stroke of pinch landed into the flesh of his right arm. Then one by one, the hands moved away from his body, leaving him free for another try. He didn't let it go away—his chance.

But as he wanted to get hold of the mask on his face, the hand went limp, not wanting to follow his order. _Damn… what the hell?_

His view became a little blur—not much but enough to make his headache worse._ You drugged me._

"You drugged… me?" It was like an echo. He could count the seconds between the thought and his slur. He was sleepy, his eyes blinked too slow it let go a few tears and the beeping beside him matched his feeling of leisure. This was it. He couldn't fight it anymore.

People were moving around him, a little slower than before, and a little less in number. Their movement just made him dizzy so he closed his eyes.

He didn't know how long he drifted in and out before his ears registered the voice he recognized.

"Thank you doc." _Oh God, it__'__s dad._

He could feel the figure, closing their distance. It was dad. He knew the smell, the feeling of him being in the room. He croaked his eyes open—which were too slow in speed. Dad was there, right in front of him. He tried to brush away the blur so he could read the face better.

_He knew. He knew that I was trying to kill myself!_

"Hey buddy."

------

"How are you feeling?" John smiled—a real smile. He sat his rear onto the already set chair by the bed. He studied his son cautiously. Dean seemed relaxed but the eyes were trying to tell him otherwise. He frowned worriedly.

"What is it Dean? You okay?" _Oh God, how much I missed this. I stopped talking nice to him before I could remember when._ He put his left hand on Dean's head—not really care of what Dean would think of it because now, it wasn't about him, it was about Dean—as he brushed his thumb to the forehead—carefully not to touch the cuts and stitches.

"I…" He could hear how nervous Dean was but the BP didn't show any weird sign to the behavior. _Must be the drug._ So he waited patiently for what was coming from the boy.

"I'm sorry." John frowned. _What the hell was he apologizing for?_

He moved his other hand to grab Dean's hand, giving him some sort of comfort. He couldn't help but notice the weak response to the contact. "About what Dean?"

"The accident. I didn't mean to…" Dean was cut short before he could spill his mistake out loud.

"No. Stop it Dean. It wasn't your fault. It was just an accident. People get involved in accidents all the time. So, don't you ever think that it was your fault, son." John said, leaving the fact about the dead driver because he didn't think it was the right time.

Dean felt silent, again, trying to get a reading out of the older Winchester's face. He needed to be sure that what he was thinking right now was right, that his dad didn't know about his self-destruction act, that the face didn't put some lie just to make sure he was okay.

"Just take your rest, son. I'll be here when you wake up." Finally, Dean nodded, accepting the fact that nobody knew. He closed his eyes, following the urge of the drug.

"And Dean." He pulled the eyelids back open, waiting. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks dad." But the words never came audible as he drifted off to his sleep.

TBC

**Like I said before, I wrote Sam in Chapter 13. So, he will make his appearance soon enough (hopefully I have enough time to make it ready by... no, I'm not going to promise anything so I don't break it). Leave me a comment if you can :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **Thanks a lot for the reviews, favs and new alert to this story. I know I owe you a big explanation for this late update but let me just sum it all; (apart from my writer's block) I just moved to my new place because I have a new job (a lot of thing to do to settle it all up) and I just got my free time to write again and I also just installed my new internet connection to my place. Hopefully, I can update faster after this, maybe not regularly but it will be better than this time. Also, I wrote about Sam's time in Stanford. But I don't know the timing for new semester or exam, so just ignore the error.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. I have nothing to give. Just a thanks and happy watching (Supernatural of course)!

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter XIII**

Sam strolled his long legs to the library's lobby, giving a noticing nod to Matt—the guy behind the reception desk—as he quickly walked past the door's sensors to the locker room just outside the entrance. He took his backpack from the locker and put the books inside before starting to move to get out of the building.

He went to the library this morning, thinking that maybe he could concentrate on his studying in a new environment. After he received the call from Dean that night, he spent a whole hour between each two pages of his book, calling his brother's phone but ending up with no answer. It continued until he wasn't aware of his surroundings anymore and the next morning, when he woke up with back pain from sleeping on his desk, he dialed again. But there was no more dialing tone because it went straight to the mailbox.

After a few more tries, he gave up. He proceeded with his revision, trying to ignore the concern and worry that was starting to eat at him. He really felt so bad about what he did. But even between the whole facts about economic law and its policies, he managed to slit a few ideas of calling Bobby or even his father to get the news about Dean, about his whereabouts and his whole condition—if he was hurt or anything. But since the whole father and son drama was still fresh in his mind, he thought that the second option was flushed out. So, his only way out was Bobby, or maybe Pastor Jim—if the Singer didn't know anything.

He walked straight to the small yard not far from the library, passing a few couples with books since it was the study week for a few programs including his. He found an empty wooden chair beside the sidewalk, sustaining his phone from his pocket to his ear, at the same time as he sat on the hard surface.

He didn't have to wait long to get the person answering his speed dial as a raw hello was capturing his eardrum.

"Hello."

"Bobby?" He said, not really sure to himself either to make it as a question or a statement. But the silent at the end of the line just reminded him of something. Bobby didn't have his number so the hunter might be wondering who the hell he was. He was just about to identify himself when Bobby voiced his name.

"Sam? Oh god is that really you?" There was happiness in the older man's voice—which made him so relieved. At least there was still somebody who wasn't angry with him right now.

"Yeah. It's me, Sam."

"How are you boy? Everything fine up there?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine. I'm fine. I'll just start a couple of final papers tomorrow."

"Good to hear that."

Sam cleared his throat, not really knowing how to start this but he needed to ask anyway. "Listen Bobby. I need to… I wanna know if you heard anything from my brother this past couple of days?"

"Dean? Ehm… yeah, I saw him. He was with me." Then awkwardly, the conversation went silent for a little while. Sam didn't want to believe his instinct for this kind of moment but he just knew the silence meant something. Bobby was hiding something from him but he needed to hear more of the older man's voice to be sure.

"How is he?"

"He, he's fine, Sam." There, the knot in the voice, right there, freely told him that there was really something happened and he didn't know—maybe didn't deserve to know.

"Bobby. Don't lie to me. Is there something I should know? How is he actually?"

"He…"

"Bobby please. Tell me. I… I did something bad. I said something to him and I didn't remember his birthday. I know it's my fault and I need to apologize. But he didn't answer my call. I… I just… God, Bobby just let me know, how is he?" Sam blurted out everything that came inside his head at that time. He didn't know what to say. He just needed the answer.

Sam heard a loud inhaled of breath, knowing that the answer was coming—but it sure was something that he didn't prepare of.

"He had an accident."

Sam gulped. His jaw felt tight, his throat dry and he couldn't say anything for a while, not even a word. His head started to throb. If it was already there before, he sure as hell didn't feel anything until now. His eyes blurry but, he didn't have time to think if it was because of the headache or the tears pooling in his eyes.

Elbowing the knee, he rubbed his right fingers to his eyes, wiping the tears away before running the same hand through his hair. He blinked a few times as his other hand knuckling white the phone hard to his ear.

Rubbing the right temple a few moments, he asked with a shaky voice. "Was… was it on a hunt?"

"No. The Impala was wrecked with a truck. But believe me boy, he's good now. He lost a lot of blood and he had a few other injuries but he's really good now. They even moved him to a regular room this morning."

"Why didn't you call me?" The voice was more vocal now. The young man was crying.

"You know why Sam. Your brother won't let me. Hell, your dad will kill me."

"I need to see him Bobby. I need to see him." _I need to be with him._

This was the first time since he left that he really heard about his brother being hurt. He knew that there might be the other time but this was the real news for him. He felt guilty as hell. He had never missed any chance to take care of his brother before, everytime he was sick or hurt. But right now, he felt useless. His brother needed him but he was here, busying himself with school and exam. _Normal._

"No, son. You said yourself that you have final exam right? Tomorrow? So you can't leave it just like that. Everything that you've done before will be useless. Make it worth your while."

"But I need to be with him, Bobby. He's my brother." The guilt was naked in his voice, shameless to the old friend.

A few moments gone, left both sides with their own thoughts. But Bobby was the one who pulled out of the silence first. "Okay, listen. You just keep going with your school things and I'll keep you updated about Dean. Once you're done, you come down here to see him. Don't worry too much about him, he really is fine. He's had worse before. He might be out of the hospital by the time you are here anyway."

"But…"

"That, or you don't get to see him." Sam sighed, accepting defeat. He pulled his posture straight, relief for a solution even if it was out of his willingness.

"I'll be finished the exam in a week. I'll be there after that. Which hospital?"

"Call me when you're done then I'll tell you." Again, Sam sighed.

"But promise me Bobby. You'll keep me updated. If something happens, let me know. ASAP. He's my brother Bobby. I need to know."

"I know kiddo. I promise. Believe me."

"Alright. Bye Bobby."

"Yeah, bye."

With a click, Sam shoved the phone into his pocket. He then dropped his head in his hands, silently praying that everything was going to be okay.

_I__'__m sorry, Dean. I should be there. Just please be okay._

He bit his lip, trying to hold the sob from appearing.

------

Bobby huffed. The promise was made, he couldn't take it back. Now, he just needed to make sure that John didn't know anything about this. Let them deal with it when the time came. That two stubborn Winchesters could finish their business when they see each other soon.

This time, it wasn't about them. It was about Dean. He needed his brother, both his father and brother—his family. That was how he saw this. That boy was broken before and he didn't know what would happen if the kid knew about the death of the other driver. John never said anything about that when he arrived at the hospital last night. He was a little bit late and the visitor's hour was over, so they just met at the parking lot.

From what he knew from John, the kid was awake and he didn't ask anything about the driver. Not yet anyway. His head might be messed up too much to even remember anything about it.

He just hoped, whatever happened after this, they could use Sam to help his brother to get through this thing.

Bobby inhaled a deep breath, pulling the cap off just to put it back after shoving his hand through his grey hair. He pushed his old legs into the hospital entrance, taking an elevator to the sixth floor—to Dean's new room.

As he turned the corner, his steps halted in the hallway.

A bunch of three heads were landing their focus on him all of the sudden. As soon as the group saw him, Dr. Sean Wilson, Dean's orthopedist—who smiled gently—enquired two other persons with him—a sheriff and a police officer—right into his direction. Bobby Singer looked at them in awareness, quickly recalling about the police which John mentioned in their talk last night.

"Mr. Singer, this is the Sheriff, Roger Hill and this is Officer Rodriguez, the police in charge for your nephew's case." The doctor introduced his company to the hunter as Bobby took his hand out to take the gesture. He noticed that the Sheriff was acting a little bit strange to his liking, like he was a little too observant.

"I'm Dean's uncle. So, what can I do for you? And why do we need the sheriff department and the police working on the same case at the same time?" Bobby asked, he knew that sometimes they did but he just wanted to hear the response.

"No, actually, I'm not really involved in this case. But this is my town and I'm the one who ran into the accident. So, I just want to see if the boy's okay." The sheriff said. His voice was casual but Bobby didn't miss a glint in the eyes of the man with the name Roger Hill. There was something about this man that kept picking his attention but he couldn't point his finger to the exact reason.

Bobby didn't take his eyes off the Sheriff but he didn't say anything either. So Officer Rodriguez was taking that moment as his cue to talk. "I'm the one who works on this case. And we need as much information as we can get. So, I'm pretty sure you know the procedure. We need to talk to your nephew. It's not going to take too much time but we need your family's cooperation. I'll make this as comfortable as I can for him, as long as it will take."

Bobby looked thoughtful. This guy seemed genuine and he didn't look suspicious, as if they didn't have a lead that could put Dean into a downhill. So far, it was all good for their side.

"Yeah, there's no problem with me but you still need to mention this to his father." Bobby said.

Dr. Wilson interrupted, "I just paged Dr. Sullivan. You need him to be here before you can start the session."

Bobby nodded. "So guys, just wait the doctor's here. I need to make sure if my nephew is up to this talking thing." Not to bother to say anything more, he walked to Dean's room. After a few glances over the room's number and names on the door—since this was the first time he went to the new room—he stopped right in front of the doorway. The door was cracked and he practically could feel the tense in the air.

"Why not, Dad?"

"Because I'm not sure, Dean. Please, would you please stop asking me?"

Wondering about what the argument was all about, Bobby cleared his throat, pushing the door ajar so he could lose inside. "Hey Dean, how are you doing, kid?"

TBC

**Yeah, I know. It's bad. But this is the best I can write at that time. Review if you want, whatever you want.**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **Thanks a lot for the reviews guys. It seems like I don't really have free time anymore, I mean apart from the time to eat, a nap and checking my emails—something like that. I can't finish my chapters, I can't finish my videos. I can't do anything like I used to anymore. But I'm still trying so here goes the new chapter. Hopefully the next chapter will be here as soon as I can.

**Beta'ed: **Green Raven 212. Thanks girl. You're like half of this story to be done.

**Summary: **See Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

* * *

**Distant and Faded**

**Chapter XIV**

John pushed the door with Dean's fake name on it, for the first time not feeling too tense like every other time he'd stepped into Dean's room before. His son was getting better and he got a new room—a regular one for post-surgery patients—because the recovery room was making him sick, with its odour and the fact that people in there might end up in ICU if they were not making good progress. But thank goodness that his son dodged the bullet very well. _Atta boy._

Everything seemed to be fine. He even got his appetite back, making a decision to shove real food called breakfast down his throat after he was kicked out of Dean's side to give room for Dr. Wilson and his nurses to poke and prod his son—that was what Dean would call it even when they actually just changed the bandages and checking up his broken bones. After spending about twenty minutes in the café—even managed to read the newspaper—he made a decision that there was enough time he was there.

So here he was, walking down the doorway, expecting to see his son to finish his breakfast—just like what the nurse said. But the scene in front of him was rejecting the idea on the spot.

Dean was lying down flatly on his pillow, posture bended up mirroring the bended bed—obviously to help him to have his breakfast—face turning to his left, exchanging the glance with the outside view. There was a tray of food—could also be called Darwinism—abandoned lonely on the trolley. John still couldn't see his son's full face but from his sight, he could see that the young man was feeling troubled about something.

And somehow, he felt nervous about it. There were a lot of things that could be bothering his son—he even preferred it has something to do with their previous _cold _relationship than anything from the accident—because one thing for sure, he knew Dean was not ready to hear anything about the other people's death caused by the same accident he was involved in.

"You want me to get you something more decent to eat?" Yeah, food was just about the right thing to start a conversation with his son.

"Don't feel like eating." So, he was talking. _That was good enough_.

But that was just it. No more words. As John put his rear to the chair, nothing audible came out from both sides. John was waiting for his son to say something and Dean was waiting for nothing except maybe something interesting would jump from outside of the window. His unfocused stare was unchanged from the previous state and it made John feel more and more uncomfortable.

"So, how do you feel?" Yet another try wouldn't do any harm.

A slight movement from the right shoulder answered.

"Don't you wanna say anything?" No response.

"Or ask anything?" At the moment, John just cursed himself because despite that the question was successfully pulled the attention from Dean, John was putting himself in a risk—a risk of answering something he didn't want to. Dean took his gaze off the window and looked down to the mattress on his waist down. He was deep thinking.

"Maybe you know something…" John was practically gulped at the sudden stare Dean threw him in along with the question.

_Here it comes._

"How bad is he?" The sincere concern was plastered all over Dean's face. But the eyes, they were something different. It wasn't only concern, but he was sure, there was also a glimpse of guilt in the green hazels.

"The guy in the truck, how bad is he?" Dean asked again. His voice raw but stern, making sure his father knew what he was talking about when the first question seemed less in information.

John was chanting in his head, torn between the truth and the lie. He couldn't choose so he thought maybe it was better if he could drag the conversation a little while longer until he could come up with a better idea. "So you remember?"

A sigh was audible in John's ears. Disappointment. How could it be the only thing he did to his son, even with a simple question as that?

"Yes dad, I remember. I wanna know how bad is he? Dr. Wilson said he was in a bad condition but he didn't want to say more than that. Nobody wanted to tell me anything." The guiltiness in Dean's face deepened with each word.

Didn't miss the sorrow, John couldn't help but surprised with the _news_. So if he lied, it wasn't totally his fault. The doctor started it. John was sure that the doctor's medical opinion made a better judgment than his own. Dean was in no condition to learn about the truth yet. So, he could just play along with a story made by the orthopedist.

"Bad, Dean." John said, while his head was stamping a note to _confront_ the doctor about the lie, later.

"I wanna see him." _Shit._ He should expect something like this earlier. Now what?

"You can't Dean. You're in no condition to move around yet. Just take it easy for a while. When the time comes, I'll let you."

"I can walk." The pleaded look was something John rarely saw. Dean was not really a person who asked a lot from him as his father and when he did once in a while, it wasn't an easy task to say no. 'No' was shorter than 'yes' but at this time, it was impossible to say it. He felt so guilty but he still needed to deny the request.

"No, Dean. You are not well yet."

"I know I'm getting better. The doctor said it. You know how to judge it right. You can see it yourself. Please, I just wanna see him. I promise, I'm not going to move a lot. I'd use the wheelchair if it's going to make you feel better." John was barely successfully holding a snort out from his throat. Hearing Dean's request to use the wheelchair was something really new. He never thought it would happen.

And somehow it made him wonder, if the accident was really the boy's fault. He seemed so keen to see the man and the guilt in the face was so deep he could read it right away.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea, Dean. So it's a no."

"Why not, Dad?" As he said it, Dean stretched up his back, like he wanted to sit properly but he winced as the pain kicked him in the ribs. Gritting his teeth, he drew a deep breath, leaning back to the bed, trying to shove the pain away as much as he was trying to hide it from John—even when he knew it was already revealed, thanks to the loud machine right on his side.

"Because I'm not sure, Dean. Would you please stop asking me?" _God, Dean. Please. I just don__'__t want you to be hurt anymore._ John thought, making sure he kept his temper in check. A hurt son was the last thing he wanted to see again—not like he wanted to see it—not just physically as he could see right now but also emotionally.

"Ehem…" Suddenly the argument was forgotten. Both attentions turned to the voice at the door. John locked his eyes with the pair of older ones from the capped man who stared at him briefly—warningly. He wasn't even aware of the appearance which made him somehow kick himself with a curse on how off guard he had been. No matter how good any hunter or creature were, he usually could sense their tail.

But now, right in front of his nose—especially in guarding his own son—he had neglected it.

"Hey Dean, how are you doing, kid?"

"Fine." Dean answered it half-heartedly, looking down at the mattress with an annoying stare. But he never stopped himself from mumbling ahead. "I can talk, I can eat, I can move, I can walk."

Bobby frowned, looking for the older Winchester for an answer.

"He wanted to see _the guy._ He thinks he's well enough." John said, with a signal in his voice and eye movement. Bobby shook his head with a sigh.

"I don't think you have time for it, Dean." Bobby said but in a clear tone that he wasn't finished yet when Dean moved once more to argue but he was clearly in pain. "But-"

"I'm not finished yet. And make sure you take care of those ribs of yours right there." Dean snickered down at Bobby's stern command.

"There are two guys out there who want to talk to you, take your statement about the accident. Are you up for it?" Bobby's voice turned gentle as he asked.

Dean looked thoughtful. But as the time passed, his frown was formed, little by little. _Did they know it? Did they already know that it was my fault?_

Bobby turned to his left, sticking his sight to John's as their worried face masked each other. The machine was beeping louder, frequenting the second. Their concerns turned deadly when they could see how pale Dean was as he just stared ahead unfocused.

"Dean." John shook his son's shoulder, trying to pull him out from the state.

"Dean!" at the second call, John's loud voice managed to startle his son from the _lost world._

Bobby, at the other end of the bed, let out a sigh of relief when he could see Dean's eyes started to trail their faces in recognition. The BP was started to slow down a bit. Again his eyes locked with John's as the boy's father turned to him, asking silently if they shared the same thought—that the boy suffered the sign of an early stage of anxiety. He nodded with a signal of the eyelids.

John turned his head back to his son, gripping the broad shoulder harder—gaining a full attention from Dean. "Are you okay, son?"

Dean seemed hesitated, "I… I'm…"

"Don't worry, if you're not ready, it's okay. We can do it later. They can wait. I'll make sure of it." John's hand chased the contact from the shoulder to Dean's right head. His palm rubbed the hair gently, praying silently that the contact might send a brief bit of confidence back to his son.

The look of the green hazel eyes back to him wrenched his heart, aching more as the boy unconsciously leaned back to the touch.

"It's okay Dean." John smiled before twisting his view to Bobby.

"Tell them to come back next time." Bobby nodded.

He was just about to reach the door when Dean looked up at the old friend. "Wait."

"I… I'm ready."

"No, no, no, no. Dean, I don't think it's a good idea. It's okay. They can wait." John said worriedly. Dean turned to him, looking better from before.

"No, dad. I think I'm okay now because I don't think I can do it again." His raw voice full of plead.

John sighed. He could hear the same utterance from the other side of the room too—Bobby. He didn't know what was really in the boy's head—what was really happened in the accident. And because of that, he was afraid that Dean was saying the truth—that maybe this was the only time he managed to do this—even if this will reveal the truth about the dead guy.

"I think he's right."

"John-"

"No, Bobby. I believe him." John threw a look to his friend, demanding some understanding—which ironically, he usually the one who didn't and Bobby on the other way round, did.

Bobby sighed, shaking his head unbelievably. "If you say so." He moved back to the door, walking to the hallway, back to the persons who waited for him.

But an uneasy feeling kicked his gut along the way to the three standing guys, knowing this will lead to bad news.

TBC

**I wrote Chapter 16 first because another big thing happened in there and I can't wait for it but Chapter 15 is still on hold. As soon as I can write it, I'll update. Also, review will make me happy :)**


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